


I Am Very Proud of My Daddy's Name/ All Though His Kind of Music and Mine Ain't Exactly the Same

by Straight_Outta_Hobbiton



Series: Children Will Look To You/ For Which Way To Turn/ To Learn What To Be [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Child Abandonment, Deaf Character, Deaf Saavik, F/F, F/M, Leonard Is A Tired Dad™, Leonard Loves His Babies More Than Anything Else In The World, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, One Grandma To Rule Them All (It's T'Pau), Post-Narada, Shore Leave Shenanigans, Teenaged Pon Farr, The Biggest Bestest Family On Earth, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Vulcans Treat Alcohol the Way We Treat Chocolate, Vulcans in Georgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 37,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12364899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton/pseuds/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton
Summary: Bones' Vulcans have been brought home to Georgia, where they are introduced to the extended McCoy Clan and all the family shenanigans that happen when you have seventy cousins eager to help you acclimate to Humans. That, along with the rest of the Enterprise Alpha crew fleeing the





	1. Chapter 1

 

There are hand-me-downs aplenty when it comes to McCoy kids. It’s just the way it is, when there’s that many kids running around, all between the ages of one and seventeen. In fact, they’ve got such a surplus that there’s a whole wardrobe dedicated to hand-me-downs in the Big House, sorted by tops, bottoms, dresses, skirts, then by season, by color, and by size.

 

Suffice to say, by the end of the first week, every Vulcan has their own little closet, organized and color-coordinated in deference to each one’s taste.

 

They find their places pretty quickly, once they get a schedule going. His cousin Elizabeth specializes in Interstellar Studies, and has taught a Vulcan or two in her time. Granted, they’re not yet of age to start their proper studies— Vulcan children don’t really begin formal learning until the age of nine— but she helps Leonard work out a schedule that will keep their mornings busy in a way fitting of any typical Vulcan child. He’s lucky he has so many cousins, and that their interests are all so varied. With Flores in San Francisco, his cousin Steven has taken over yoga classes, and Beau’s more than happy to give lessons on Federation History, excited as any historian can be for a new audience.

 

The SSL classes continue as well, but Leonard doesn’t lead those anymore, either. His cousin Bart’s three kids are all deaf, and so is his cousin Casey’s daughter, Shawna, who’s just about Saavik’s age and thrilled to have a friend just as interested in sciences as she is. Saavik, he can tell, is just as excited to have a friend to talk to, one who can’t be distracted by hearing conversation at the drop of a hat. Not that her new friendship has cut her off from her other Vulcan siblings, of course— Blue has made a point to hang out with Saavik whenever she can manage, a habit that formed shortly after their altercation on the _ Apollo. _

 

Reading has been relegated to an evening activity, after dinner during the lull between dishes and nightly summer bonfires. They’re nearly done _ Lord of the Rings,  _ now, and Leonard’s already got another series in mind— _ Harry Potter, _ of course.

 

Meals are always an interesting experience. If Leonard thought it was hard on a starship, with access to replicators and no need for any in-depth knowledge regarding vegetarian cooking, it would be nearly impossible now to handle it on his own. Luckily, Steven’s wife is a chef, and has been cooking vegetarian for her family for years.

 

“Have you talked to Lenny yet?” Lola asks, chopping up onions for something that Leonard will no doubt find delicious. “About setting up appointments for the kids, I mean.”

 

“Not yet.” Leonard has been delegated the task of peeling potatoes, which is just about the only thing he can do when faced with a cooking task that doesn’t include a grill. “I wanted the kids to get settled before I inflict counseling on them all.”

 

“I understand that, but you need to get on it soon,” Lola says. “The kids all got a talkin’ to before you showed up, but they’re kids, and they might forget. Your babies are strong, but they’re young, and shit happens.”

 

Leonard sighs.

 

“I know,” he says. “But Vulcans… Vulcans don’t talk about feelings, much, and I’m worried as to how they’ll take it.”

 

“Those kids are more open than any Vulcan I’ve ever met,” Lola says. “And I’ve met quite a few, seeing as I run the best vegetarian restaurant in Atlanta. Counseling is always hard, Leo, but the sooner they start, the easier it’ll be. Helen’s the best in the business south of the Mason-Dixon, and she’s not going to disregard their heritage.”

 

Leonard knows she’s right, of course— he’s a doctor, goddammit, and he knows how this shit works. But he’s nervous, regardless, scared to upset the delicate balance his children have struck amongst themselves.

 

“I’ll talk to Helen tomorrow morning,” he says. “Figure out a schedule of some kind.”

 

“Good.” Lola gives him a gentle smile. “It would break Wind’s heart if she accidentally hurt her new cousins, you know. Same goes for Leaf and Ruby.”

 

Leonards grimaces.

 

“These kids,” he says softly. “They’re not going to be mine forever. I’m a… a stop-gap, just until Sybok and the other healers can sort out the Vulcan adults. I’m a foster parent, at best.”

 

“That’s more of a parent than anything else they’ve got,” Lola says tartly. “And anyway, Leo, if you think any of those babies are giving you up, you’ve got another thing coming. Even if they do move on, they’re not going to forget about you. Not ever.”

 

A warm feeling blooms in Leonard’s chest. He smiles.

 

“Steven sure knows how to pick ‘em,” he says. “You’re a peach, Lola.”

 

“I’ve always thought of myself more as a lemon meringue,” Lola says thoughtfully. “But it’s appreciated.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“You’re hair is like, so silky,” Hobart says, running his fingers through T’Ruao’s hair with something close to reverence. She’s given her new McCoy cousin permission to style her hair, fascinated by his current subject of study— cosmetology. “God, and it holds its shape so well.”

 

“Thank you for the compliment, Hobie,” T’Ruao says politely.

 

“No need to thank me for facts,” he says, grinning at her in the mirror. “I’ve gotta ask— have you ever thought about cutting it?”

 

“I— no. It is rather unusual for a Vulcan woman of my status to crop her hair unless she belongs to a profession where it would be necessary to do so.”

 

“That’s a shame. You would look amazing with a pixie-cut. Don’t you think, Ruron?”

 

Ruron tilts his head thoughtfully.

 

“I believe T’Ruao is pleasing regardless of her hairstyle,” he says after a moment. “If she wished to cut it, she would be just as attractive as she is now.”

 

T’Ruao’s cheeks warm slightly, tinging green.

 

“Perhaps I ought to cut it,” she says. “My hair is quite tiresome to manage on occasion.”

 

“Do as you like,” Ruron says. “What matters to me most will remain unchanged.”

 

“Oh, _ please,  _ let me do your hair,” Hobie says. “You would look _ fantastic.” _

 

T’Ruao chews her lip, thinking it over. Then she nods.

 

“Very well, Hobie,” she says. “I am at your mercy.”

 

“You’re in good hands,” Hobie promises, already reaching for one of the drawers of his vanity. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

 

Hobart is the emotional equivalent of a sunbeam, if T’Ruao were to be Human about it. He is a cheerful, warm person, perhaps overly-affectionate in his touches, but not in a manner that makes her— or, by extension, Ruron— uncomfortable. In fact, Hobie has quickly become one of their closest cousins.

 

The sheer number of McCoys is probably the greatest shock to T’Ruao’s system. She had been an only child, as both of her parents had been before her. She’d never had cousins, before, not close ones, anyway. Vulcans are not so fond of the litters of children that Humans like the McCoys are prone to having, preferring to focus their energy on one or two children at a time.

 

T’Parna thinks that might be another flaw in Vulcan logic. It robs the youngest of their number of proper socialization, she argues, particularly when coupled with the preference most Vulcan parents have to keep their children close to home until they come of age to begin formal schooling unless it is absolutely necessary to do otherwise.

 

Regardless, T’Ruao thinks as Hobie brushes her hair out and lets it fall down her back, she rather likes this manner of familial interaction. It is… quite pleasing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! It's been a while— I started a new job this Monday, so things have been a little hectic, but I had a minute so I decided to post! Hope you all have fun with the next bit.

“Where is Pop going?” Waylon asks, eyes trained on Grandpa Willie as he piles crate after crate of empty glass jars into the back of an antique of a transport. He calls it a pickup truck. Bonz calls it a hazard.

 

Duke looks up.

 

“Oh, he’s goin’ shinin’,” he says. “You know what that is?”

 

Waylon shakes his head.

 

“It’s an ol’ family tradition,” Ulysses says, folding with a grimace as Hank pulls the contents of the pot towards him— marbles, today. “Shiners go up into the woods somewhere and make alkee-hall.”

 

“There was a time, ‘bout three or four hundred years ago where it was illegal to have liquor,” Duke adds. “So people started makin’ it on their own. Pop’s got recipes older ‘n’ him, if you can believe.”

 

“How does one make alcohol?” Cash asks curiously.

 

“It’s borin’ honestly,” Duke says. “It takes all day, and we can’t even drink it— not like the grownups are allowed, anyway.”

 

“Pop’ll give ya a sip or two on the sly sometimes,” Ulysses says, leaning in conspiratorially. “So long as none of the other grownups is watchin’.”

 

“I would like to see,” Merle says. “Would he permit us to join him?”

 

Ulysses shrugs.

 

“If you wanna go, he’ll take you,” he says. “But Duke’s right— it’s borin’ as heck to watch. And the mash smells _ awful.” _

 

“I would like to go as well,” Waylon says. “Cash, Hank, would you join us?”

 

“I will not,” Hank says, gathering the cards to reshuffle. “I’m doing well.”

 

“You always do well in cards,” Cash says. “You cheat, I know it.”

 

“I do not!”

 

“I will go as well,” Cash says, ignoring Hank in favor of Waylon and Merle. “I am fascinated by this concept. Why does he continue to make alcohol if the work spawned from illegal activities?”

 

“‘Cause it’s tradition,” Duke says, shrugging. “Sometimes, tradition’s real silly like that.”

 

“Better you go on an’ ask him about it,” Ulysses says, jerking his head in Grandpa Willie’s direction. “He’ll tell you all about it.”

 

“We shall,” Waylon says. “Thank you for playing with us, Duke, Ulysses, though I suggest you quit while you are ahead. Hank learned from Uncle Jim himself— it is difficult to beat him.”

 

“We’ll figure out a way,” Duke assure him. “It’s just a matter of time, now.”

 

Hank arches an eyebrow, a small smile playing across his face.

 

“I will not dissuade you of this belief,” he says. “I find I quite like marbles.”

 

Merle rolls his eyes at that, turning to Waylon and Cash.

 

“Shall we?”

 

The three of them leave their brother to steal the rest of their cousins marbles, now on a mission: ask Grandpa Willie to take them shining.

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Well, if it ain’t the rest of my Highwaymen,” Grandpa Willie says when he catches sight of them. “Whattaya need, boys?”

 

“We would like to go shining with you,” Waylon says.

 

Willie blinks.

 

“Ulysses and Duke explained the concept,” Merle adds, looking hopeful. “And we were curious as to the history of shining, and why you continue to do it when alcohol is readily available via replicator or purchase.”

 

“We believe observation would prove informative,” Cash says. “We have never seen the production of alcohol. It seems fascinating.”

 

Grandpa Willie stares a moment longer, nonplussed, before breaking into a large, easy grin.

 

“Well, sure, if you want,” he says. “Wait just a second— I just need a few more things and then we’ll get going, alright?”

 

He disappears back into the little trailer that is his preferred residence, reappearing a few minutes later with a small cooler and a large black guitar case.

 

“Moonshine’s made best with a little music,” he tells them, setting both the cooler and the guitar in the back before picking up the battered piece of wooden fence leaning against the truck. He settles it carefully against the rusted iron slits soddered to the bottom and sides, then smashes his fist against the upper board, locking it into place.

 

“Redneck engineerin’,” he says, winking at the boys. “The tailgate fell off some twenty years ago, now. This hunk of wood hasn’t failed me since I installed it.”

 

The ducklings look fascinated, which is great— Willie hasn’t had a fresh audience in years, and the littlest two of Louis’ brood are still a little young, yet.

 

“Well,” he says, pulling open the passenger door with a sharp tug. “Pile on in. I’ll take you to the best spot there is.”

 

Eyes wide, the kids obey, sliding onto the bench seat with something akin to wonder on their little faces as Willie shuts the door and circles to the driver’s side and hops in.

 

“Since we’ve got the Highwaymen here,” he says, reaching into the small space behind the seat and fishing out a small, plastic box. “I figure we ought to listen to the appropriate tunes, don’t you?”

 

“What is that?” Waylon asks.

 

“It’s called a cassette tape,” Willie explains, flipping open the box. “It’s a reproduction of some old Earth technology. Unfortunately for most, this truck’s pretty old. It’s radio only plays cassettes, so we gotta make do.”

 

He takes the cassette out of its package and pushes it into the small opening of the radio. Then, he turns on the truck.

 

The engine roars to life, and guitar floods the cabin.

 

_ “I was a highwayman, along the coach roads I did ride, with sword and pistol by my side…” _

 

He pulls the truck out of the driveway, singing along as the children peer out of the window.

 

Willie has a feeling these kids won’t get bored as easily as his Human great-grandkids do.

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Doctor McCoy, it’s nice to see you!” Sybok grins up at the screen, setting aside the forms he’d been filling out. “What can I do for you?”

 

“I just want your opinion on something,” Doctor McCoy says.

 

“Of course, Doctor. What is it you need?”

 

“My sister’s a trauma counselor,” he says. “And I want to know if I’m doing right by the kids to have them start taking appointments with her. I know they’ve loosened up a bit when it comes to Vulcan custom, but… I don’t want to upset them.”

 

Sybok blinks.

 

“As I understand it, many aspects of counseling can be upsetting,” he says slowly. “Even amongst Humans.”

 

“I know, but Vulcans are weird about that sort of thing.”

 

“You would be correct in that matter,” Sybok agrees. “But I believe, Doctor, that it would be a very interesting experiment. So far, most other alternatives you’ve introduced into the care of these children has proven effective. Perhaps this would continue your streak of unorthodox treatments that inexplicably seem to work.”

 

“... So you think I should try it?”

 

“I believe you should do whatever you think is best,” Sybok says firmly. “Your intuition has done well by these children thus far, and if it proves ineffective— well, all parents make mistakes. Even Vulcan parents.”

 

Doctor McCoy snorts.

 

“Right, okay,” he says. “How’s it going on your end, by the way?”

 

Sybok sighs.

 

“A young woman died yesterday,” he admits. “Her bondmate perished on Vulcan. She has left behind a son, not a year old, yet.”

 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Leonard says. “What are you going to do with him?”

 

“I’ve no idea,” Sybok says. “A child so young cannot understand the loss of their parental bonds. He already was having difficulty due to the death of his father. He requires specific care, care that very few are able to take on at this stage.”

 

Leonard grimaces.

 

“This whole situation’s fucked,” he says. “I’m betting he’s not your only case, is he?”

 

“For now, he is the most pressing,” Sybok says. “But there are other children that will soon be in similar positions. It seems that we are not so sturdy a species as we originally thought.”

 

“I’ve got a theory on that,” Leonard says. “But it’s an insulting one, so I’ll keep it to myself.”

 

“Please, Doctor, you cannot say anything I have not already thought of myself.” Sybok spreads his hands. “Let me hear it.”

 

Doctor McCoy studies him a moment, then sighs.

 

“You guys are a telepathic species,” he says. “That’s a social ability, and yet… no one uses it. Casually, I mean.”

 

“The mind is a sacred place,” Sybok says. “It would be rude to intrude on the privacy of another’s mind.”

 

“But you guys have… levels,” Leonard says. “Unless you’re working at it, at best you can only read surface thoughts, right? That’s what the kids do.”

 

Sybok frowns.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“The kids,” Leonard says. “They touch each other all the time, like they’re passing notes in class. That’s how they pass along information.”

 

“That is… not normal,” Sybok says. “And incredibly rude.”

 

“They all seem fine with it,” Leonard says, shrugging. “I guess they learned it from me. I let them touch me all the time.”

 

“You calm them,” Sybok corrects. “That’s different. That is emotional guidance, something they would receive from a parent prior to entering formal schooling.”

 

“Well, they do it,” Leonard says. “That’s how they learned to play poker overnight.”

 

Fascinating, Sybok thinks. A simple, efficient manner of passing on information. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

 

“I suppose they are comfortable with one another,” he says. “Have you seen any instances where they have done this with others outside of the immediate group?”

 

Doctor McCoy shrugs.

 

“A few of my nieces and nephews,” he says. “They think it’s a great trick, the Human kids. With a touch, they know what Mount Seleya looks like, or what it’s like to be on a starship. I think they find it comforting, though— the fishies, I mean. I see them do it a lot whenever one of them has a nightmare, or some other kind of attack.”

 

Perhaps they do. Between the Vulcans, they’re able to share the burden of their negative emotions, empathizing and soothing as they share their feelings. Perhaps…

 

“Sybok?”

 

Sybok blinks.

 

“Apologies, Doctor, I was thinking.” He straightens. “If the children are comfortable sharing their emotional state through such intimate means, I believe you will have no trouble in regards to Human counseling.” He pauses. “Though I would attempt to instill in them the importance of  _ asking  _ before sharing like that. The connection goes both ways, regardless of species, and some might take it poorly if they were to do it without explicit permission.”

 

“Already on it,” Doctor McCoy says. “Thanks, Sybok.”

 

Sybok smiles.

 

“I’m happy to assist,” he says. “You have been an asset to the people of Vulcan, Doctor. I will never disregard the aid you have given so freely.”

 

“It’s no problem,” Leonard says. “Listen, call me if you need any help, okay? With those kids. We’ve got enough room for another dozen, if it comes to that.”

 

Sybok doesn’t think he’ll ever meet another man as good as this one. It’s just impossible.

 

“I will keep that in mind, Doctor,” he says, dipping his head. “Have a good evening.”

 

“You too. Um— live long and prosper.”

 

Sybok chuckles.

 

“Peace and long life, Doctor.”

 

The vidcall ends, and Sybok leans back in his seat, letting his body relax.

 

Doctor McCoy has given him a lot to think about, and think about it he will. Perhaps Flores is free for dinner and a tall glass of chocolate milk.

 

Sybok would like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do the McCoy kids say alkee-hall? Because my ex-boyfriend was from Alabama and said it like that and I fucking love it.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Lucian is thirteen years old, with with long blond hair that is in the process of being dyed green. Why he’s dyeing it green, Kiddo isn’t completely sure, but it has something to do with the music that’s blaring in the little bathroom where he’s decided to take on this endeavor.

 

It’s called punk, Lucian explained when Kiddo had initially inquired about the noise. It was a genre of music, popularized in the late twentieth century, and died sometime during the Eugenics Wars, due to its blatant anti-totalitarian, anarchistic views.

 

“It’s some of the best shit— stuff, sorry, don’t say ‘shit’ in front of a grownup— to come out of classical music,” Lucian says, gloved hands spreading the foul-smelling dye through his hair. “It’s so _ raw,  _ man— angry, about the way things were, you know? Being poor, being helpless, being abused by a system that couldn’t work. You really _ feel  _ it, you know? It’s such a specific part of Terran history, and people overlook it just because the bands couldn’t play.”

 

Kiddo is fascinated. Lucian has pictures plastered all over his walls, reproductions of classical Terran portraits of bands called  _ The Ramones, The Clash, The Stooges, The Sex Pistols. _ He’s never seen anybody who looked like those people do, filthy and thin and so, so angry.

 

That’s a lie. He’s seen the anger, before. Felt it, even. It’s hard not to feel the least bit abused after your planet collapses in on itself.

 

“So you dye your hair,” he says carefully. “Because dead Terran musicians dyed their hair?”

 

“I dye it ‘cause it looks cool and my mom doesn’t mind so long as I do okay in school,” Lucian says, grinning. “She’s always been cool about my ‘freedom to express myself’.”

 

Kiddo hums thoughtfully.

 

“Do you think Bonz would mind if you dyed my hair?” he asks, tilting his head to one side.

 

“Um… maybe not yet,” Lucian says, pausing. “You should ask, first. I don’t want Uncle Leo to get mad at you.”

 

“He does not get angry at us,” Kiddo says sensibly. “He gets angry at other people on our behalf.”

 

“Which means he might get mad at me,” Lucian points out. “If he gives the okay, I’ll go to the store and pick up whatever color you want— and bleach. Your hair’s too dark to just dye like mine.”

 

Kiddo nods. That makes sense, after all, and he doesn’t want to get his new cousin in trouble.

 

“Hey, Kiddo, can I ask you something?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why do you call Uncle Leo ‘Bonz’?”

 

Kiddo blinks.

 

“It is his title,” he says. “He is our bonz.”

 

“... Oh.” Lucian thinks about this. “What’s a bonz?”

 

“A bonz is a Human caretaker,” Kiddo says. “Though I am not sure how accurate that might be in regards to the greater universe. Upon realizing that Bonz’s name was _ not  _ in fact ‘Bonz’, we decided that it would serve as an identifier. There has never been a word necessary for the concept before, as Vulcans normally do not allow for orphaned or abandoned children to be raised by non-Vulcans, so my siblings and I chose to give the definition a name.”

 

“So you guys are basically calling him… an au paire?”

 

“Not quite. The relationship is more intimate, I believe.” Kiddo pauses. “We share a parental bond with Bonz, though he is not biologically related to us, but he is unable to expend the normal effort expected of a typical Vulcan parent on each child, partially because he is of a non-telepathic species and partially because there are so many of us. But he attends to us, and cares for us, and makes no effort to distance himself from us as a teacher or other authority figure would.”

 

“Huh. I guess Vulcans like words for things, don’t you.”

 

“We are a very organized race,” Kiddo agrees. “And it would be in remiss to ignore the vital position that Bonz now holds in our history.”

 

“What do you mean by that?”

 

“Only one hundred and seventy-six children under the age of twenty survived the destruction of Vulcan,” Kiddo says. “Currently, Bonz has forty-six of us in his care, and will likely have more come into his care. His actions in regards to us will shape a good portion of the next generation of Vulcans.”

 

Lucian goes still again.

 

“That’s really… intense,” he says. “Does Uncle Leo know how important he is?”

 

“Probably not,” Kiddo admits. “Bonz is decidedly oblivious of most matters political, if rumors and observation are to be believed. His only interest at this point is that we are healthy, happy, and safe.”

 

“... Yeah, that sounds about right,” he says after a moment. “Uncle Leo’s kinda dumb, sometimes.”

 

“Yes, but that’s alright. It is something of a comfort, that his actions are so purely based around us.” Kiddo shifts. “My parents were very concerned about public opinion, and it was clear in how they reared me. I am not the only one who grew up that way, either.”

 

Lucian’s mouth pinches as he reaches for his hairclip, twisting his hair up and clipping it into place.

 

“That’s shitty,” he says. “Family’s family, and if you’re more worried about what other people think than your own kid’s happiness, there’s something wrong with you.”

 

“Vulcans are not happy,” Kiddo says. “They are logical, and it is logical to wish for your child to conform to social expectations rather than be deemed unfit for polite society.”

 

“Polite society can kiss my ass— pardon the expression,” Lucian says tartly as he strips off his gloves. “Being yourself is the most important thing in the world, Kiddo, and don’t let anyone tell you different. Now, are you hungry? I’ve gotta let this stuff set, and I think Uncle Bill went strawberry-picking yesterday, and I’m starving.”

 

Kiddo nods, hopping off the edge of the counter. He’d miscalculated, however, and managed to land in a small puddle, courtesy of Lucian’s earlier shower.

 

He overbalances, hands flying out to stop himself from landing face-first, and it’s only Lucian’s quick reflexes that save him.

 

“Whoa, Kiddo, be careful,” he says, surprise prickling across Kiddo’s senses from where their hands are clasped as he pulls him up. “Can’t have you hurting yourself on my watch— my mom’d kill me.”

 

Kiddo nods, eyes focusing on their hands. He’s gotten used to casual touches since he ended up in Bonz’s care, both from the handful of Humans that watched over them (Bonz, Uncle Jim, Mr. Flores) and his siblings. It was a normal thing for Humans— they rarely noticed what physical beings they were— and among the children, well, they learned by example, taking advantage of their telepathic abilities to soothe and share whenever necessary. Somehow, though, this feels different. It feels warmer, almost, and not just because of the inappropriateness of the touch.

 

“Oh, crap— sorry,” Lucian says, releasing his hand as if he’d been scalded. “Sorry. I know Vulcans are weird about their hands, sorry.”

 

Despite the broken physical connection, the warm feeling remains.

 

Frowning, Kiddo flexes his hand.

 

“It’s alright,” he says. “You were only helping.”

 

It takes a moment for him to realize he’d said that in Vulcan, too focused on the feeling for his brain to translate the words so that Lucian could understand. But it doesn’t matter, because a moment later, Lucian answers in kind.

 

“I know, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says. “Sorry, Kiddo, really.”

 

Kiddo blinks.

 

“I did not know you speak Vulcan,” he says.

 

Lucian’s brow furrows.

 

“I don’t.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Now, this stuff’s gotta sit awhile, to let the favor really get good,” Willie explains to a rapt audience as they unload the truck’s contents into the small shed-turned-liquor-cabinet. “But that’s okay, because we’re flush with other batches. Actually…” He sets down his crate, eyeing a shelf of full jars labelled ‘November, plum’. Nodding, he plucks a jar from the lineup, twisting it open and taking a careful sip.

 

“Whoo! Damn, that’s sharp,” he says, chuckling. “Here, Waylon. Go on and try that.”

 

The boy blinks at him, then takes the proffered jar, pressing the rim to his lips and tilting it.

 

Now, Willie had eight kids, and nearly ten times the number of grandkids. Every single one of them has had a sneaky sip or two under his watchful eye, so he likes to think he knows what to expect. Coughing, spitting, at the very least an unhappy grimace as it burns down a virgin throat.

 

Never, never has he seen a kid swallow it down without flinching, a thoughtful look plastered across their face as they smack their lips.

 

“It tastes a bit like Vak’tas,” Waylon says, passing the jar to Merle. “Doesn’t it, Merle?”

 

“Mhmm,” Merle says, nodding as he swallows. “It’s delicious.” He takes another large swallow, then passes it over to Cash.

 

“Vak’tas is a drink popular among children.” Waylon explains as Willie watches, dumbstruck, as Cash finishes off the jar. “It is like… a sweet, to Human children.”

 

“A… sweet.”

 

“Alcohol does not affect the Vulcan system,” Cash says, setting the now-empty jar carefully on the table. “It is pleasing, however.”

 

“Bitter,” Merle agrees. “Our palates rather prefer bitter things.”

 

Willie blinks.

 

“Bitter, huh?” he says, mouth quirking slightly. “I guess you guys are fans of dark chocolate, then?”

 

Merle’s eyes go wide.

 

“We’re not allowed to have chocolate,” he says. “Human candies can lead to the loss of inhibitions and control. Even adults rarely take part in such things.”

 

“You…” Willie covers his mouth with a hand. “Candy gets you drunk?”

 

“In a way, yes. We are not allowed to eat it. Boz said so after Uncle Jim offered us Skittles.” Waylon glances at the shelf. “May we have more, please? It is quite delicious, and grandfathers are supposed to spoil their grandchildren, according to Human literature.”

 

That’s backwards as hell, Willie thinks to himself, eyeing the boys suspiciously. Cash doesn’t seem bothered, though, and Merle looks hopeful, not at all like he just drank one hundred and ninety proof liquor without vomiting.

 

“Leo’s gonna kill me,” he says softly. “He’s going to _ kill me.” _

 

“Please, Pop?” Merle asks, and Goddammit, why didn’t anyone warn him that Vulcans could do puppy eyes just as well as any Human kid?

 

“... Don’t tell your father,” he says, relenting. “This is a secret between us, alright?”

 

“Yes, Pop.”

 

Willie sighs and takes another three jars off the shelf.

 

“This is it for today,” he warns as the boys take the jars. “The rest has to last at least until the bonfire.”

 

“Thank you,” Merle says, face serious even as he struggles to unscrew the jar.

 

Willie thinks he might be a bad grandpa, what with giving a bunch of six-almost-seven year olds their own jars of moonshine. Just a smidge.

  
  


*.*

  
  


It’s become part of the routine, for the teenagers to come home early to help set the table for dinner. Leonard appreciates the help, and the help afterward with the dishes. He _ hates  _ doing dishes.

 

So he’s surprised, honestly, when twelve green beanpoles don’t troop into the kitchen at five-forty-five on the dot.

 

“Where are the kids?” Lola asks, sparing Leonard a glance as she fills serving bowl after serving bowl with cajun-style tofu.

 

“No clue.” Leonard wipes his hands off on a dish towel. “I’ll go call ‘em back. They probably just got caught up in something.”

 

That happens, sometimes— with the younger ones, anyway. Leonard supposes it’s only a matter of time before something captures the teenagers’ attention just as fully as a soccer game or a quad race.

 

Leonard saw his mother stand a hundred times in the same spot on the Big House’s white wraparound porch, barefoot and wearing only a pair of denim shorts and a sports bra to combat the summer heat as she called his siblings and cousins up for Sunday dinner. The family always ate together on Sundays in the Big House, back before there were so goddamn many of them.

 

He doesn’t look quite so effortlessly good, sweaty hair pushed back out of his eyes with a frilly pink headband and three days of lazy stubble that’s well on its way to becoming a beard, but there he stands, hands cupped around his mouth.

 

“Big fish! I need the big fish here right now!”

 

There’s a pause, and then, he sees them, trooping out from behind Cousin Casey’s house looking slightly embarrassed.

 

“Apologies, Bonz,” T’Parna says when they get close enough. “We were… distracted.”

 

He smiles.

 

“That’s alright,” he says, patting her shoulder. “I’m not angry, I was just— T’Ruao?”

 

T’Ruao flushes green, running a long-fingered hand through her wispy black hair.

 

“Do you like it?” she asks, dropping her hand again. Her hair sticks up anyway, though, looking light and fluffy and so very, _ very _ short.

 

“It’s certainly different,” Leonard says after a moment. “But it suits you. Did Hobie get a hold of you?”

 

“He is fascinated by the texture of our hair,” Ruron says, reaching up to ruffle T’Ruao’s hair playfully from behind. “In fact, Hobie collected several large samples from T’Ruao to see if it would react normally to typical Human dyes and products. Apparently our hair is rather resistant to the tools Hobie is familiar with.”

 

Leonard snorts. For all that Hobart liked lovely things, he was a scientist, at heart. This sort of experimentation is right up his alley..

 

“You look very nice, T’Ruao,” he says. “I won’t be surprised to find you’ve started a trend by the end of the week— I take it all of you are planning on taking a chance in Hobie’s seat?”

 

“P- Perhaps,” Birnuk says, fiddling with a loose strand of his Vulcan-standard bowl-cut. “To be honest, it would be a n-n-nice… change of pace.”

 

Leonard’s lip quirks. Birnuk doesn’t like to talk in front of people very much, too self-conscious of his recently-developed stutter to feel comfortable saying much of anything. His agreement (and voiced, no less) is a heartening thing to hear. It means he’s relaxing, just a little bit

 

“I’ll be it would be,” he says. “Now, come on— we gotta set the table before the little ones stampede.”

 

That gets him a round of little smiles, pleasure radiating from each of them in the face of his approval. He doesn’t know how he knows that’s why they’re happy, but it’s clear as day as they shuffle past him into the house.

 

Kids are easy to please, even the big ones.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Lucian joins them for dinner today, hair green as grass and chatting animatedly with Kiddo and Rosie in between swallows of iced tea. Leonard’s a little surprised by his company— while it isn’t unusual for his older nieces and nephews to take it upon themselves to teach their Vulcan cousins new things, they are older, and tend to stick close to the kids closer in age whenever they can.

 

Well, whatever. He’s just happy Kiddo’s made a new friend.

 

Merle, Cash, and Waylon are back from their trip into the woods with Grandpa Willie, looking none the worse for the experience and happily explaining the process to the siblings seated nearest them. A few seats over, Hobie is discussing Terran hairstyles with a fascinated T’Lanar while Ruron listens from his place beside him, idly running his fingers through T’Ruao’s hair whenever he thinks he can get away with it.

 

Ah, young love. Leonard ought to give them the Talk soon.

 

That’s another thing that’s changed, since he brought the kids to Georgia. While Sybok and Spock had mentioned before that they were unusually tactile on the _ Enterprise, _ but here, surrounded by no one but Humans that called them family, they seem to have… let go.

 

That’s good, honestly. He wants his kids to feel comfortable. 

 

His communicator flashes in his pocket just as he settles in with a glass of wine, watching as the children begin to collect their dishes and march them to where the teenagers have already gathered, dishwasher open.

 

It’s Jim, of course.

  
  


Jim:

The crew is being harassed.

We’ve taken shelter in my apartment.

There’s nothing to eat but takeout.

Save us.

 

Leonard:

Paparazzi?

 

Jim:

Yes.

 

Leonard:

When you say crew…

 

Jim:

Me, Scotty, Chekov, Sulu and his fiance, Spock, and Uhura.

I only have two bedrooms.

I’m sleeping on my floor because Chekov’s the only one who’ll fit on the couch.

For the love of God, invite me to Georgia.

  
  


Leonard snorts, looking up at Dot, who’s leaning back in the chair beside him.

 

“Jim wants to come over,” he says. “And he wants to bring friends.”

 

Dot snorts.

 

“Well,” she says. “At this point, it’s the more, the merrier, don’t you think?”

 

“Good point.” Leonard looks back down at his communicator.

  
  


Leonard:

I think I’ve got the space for you. See you this weekend?

 

Jim:

Oh thank God.

  
  


*.*

  
  


Imogen wanders over to Leonard’s firepit that evening. Dot doesn’t notice, too busy wrangling Duke and Alan, but Leonard does, he always does.

 

“Hey, Imogen,” he greets, reaching up to give her a hug. “I haven’t seen you around.”

 

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” the blonde tells him quietly. “You’ve been busy, lately.”

 

Imogen is probably his best friend, if Leonard thinks about it. They were born ten days apart, despite the age difference between their fathers, and spent nearly every waking hour of their early lives together, from diapers to prom dresses. Out of all of them, she was probably hurt the worst when he decided to run for Starfleet.

 

“You never bother me, Immy,” he says quietly. “Pull up a chair, let’s talk awhile.”

 

Imogen watches him a while, piercing blue eyes focused on his face, before nodding, tugging on of the empty folding chairs over until the armrest touches his.

 

“Never thought you’d have children again,” she says quietly. “It’s not like you to break a promise.”

 

Leonard sighs.

 

“I’m more of a nanny,” he says. “There’s too many of ‘em to pretend to be a good dad.”

 

“And yet, I get the feeling you’re better than any of them expected.” She reaches down between them, bringing up the long wooden pipe that Leonard has yet to use. “Have anything?”

 

“A bit,” he says. “Dotty gave me some.”

 

“Where?”

 

Leonard reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small silver case. He passes it over, watching as she flips it open and pinches out a handful of dried green leaves, packing the pipe full before closing the case again and handing it back.

 

“Got a light?”

 

Leonard does, as it turns out, and a moment later, Imogen is puffing carefully on his pipe, filling the air with the strong, not quite pleasant scent.

 

“You can’t smoke on a starship, huh?” she asks, passing over the pipe and the lighter.

 

“Not particularly,” he says. “Not without a doctor’s note, anyway.”

 

She arches an eyebrow at him, blowing smoke out of her nose, and Leonard snorts.

 

“Yeah, I guess I could write one for myself. But I’m not going to,” he says. “It’s not like the stuff’s not readily available on shore leave.”

 

“True,” Imogen says agreeably.

 

They sit in companionable silence, passing the pipe back and forth until Leonard can’t be bothered to raise his hands higher than the armrest anymore. Arms are quite heavy, you know.

 

“So how are you, Leo?” Imogen asks. “Really.”

 

He sighs.

 

“Better,” he says. “I’m not… I’m not drinking the same way, anymore.”

 

“That’s good,” Imogen says. “You were scary when you were drinking.”

 

“I made a friend,” he offers. “Jim Kirk. He’s coming over this weekend.”

 

“The starship captain,” she says thoughtfully. “A bit young for you, don’t you think?”

 

“Not like that,” Leonard says. “Not really.” It’d happened once, in their early days at the Academy, and while it was fun, Leonard’s not big on the idea of a repeat performance. “He’s a good guy. He helped, a lot.”

 

“That’s good,” Imogen says. “You needed the help.”

 

He did, he really did, and even if Jim didn’t know, that first year or two, he helped anyway, just by kicking his ass out of bed every morning and making sure he did his homework.

 

Jim’s amazing. Not that Leonard will ever say it to his face, of course.

 

Sugar wanders over from Jonas’ firepit, rubbing at her eyes tiredly as she steps into the light of the Big House fire.

 

“Hey, Sugar,” he greets as she stumbles over to his chair. “Tired?”

 

“No,” she says, yawning. “I wanna sit with you. You feel comfortable.”

 

He’s stoned, is what he is, but she seems quite happy about it, if the way she cuddles up against his chest is any indication, pressing her forehead into the collar of his tank top as she curls up in his lap.

 

“Sugar,” Imogen murmurs, eyeing the little girl. “Leo give you that name?”

 

Sugar nods, cracking open an eye to peer at Imogen.

 

“Yes, Aunt Immy,” she says softly, burying her nose in his chest.

 

“Guess you must be pretty sweet,” Imogen says, smiling slightly.

 

“I am.”

 

Leo chuckles, wrapping one of his exceedingly heavy arms around Sugar’s back.

 

“Fatherhood suits you, Leo,” Imogen tells him. “I’m happy you’ve found it in you to try again.”

 

She gets up then, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek before wandering off into the darkness.

 

Leonard lets his head fall back, eyes sliding shut as he lets himself relax. He can hear guitars twanging from a dozen different firepits, songs that are centuries old mixing together in a not-unpleasant way as Grandpa Willie and Uncle Beau and Cousins Hugh and Lauren entertain the rest of the family.

 

It’s a quiet, warm, night spent under the stars with family.

 

Leonard missed this.


	6. Chapter 6

“You are not Human.”

 

Flores doesn’t twitch, continuing to do inventory as if Sybok hadn’t just burst in with that particular fact.

 

“How long have you known?” Flores asks idly, checking off something on his PADD.

 

“From the moment I met you,” Sybok says, stepping more fully into the medical supplies room. “I am an unusually powerful proximity telepath, even for my people. But from you… I feel nothing. I still feel nothing.”

 

Flores hums, unbothered.

 

“How’s that baby?” he asks, fiddling with a hypospray cap before setting it into its proper place. “The one who’s mother died.”

 

Sybok grits his teeth at his tone.

 

“Not well,” he says curtly. “He is suffering.”

 

“You speak more like a Vulcan when you’re angry,” Flores says. “Have you noticed that? It’s very charming.”

 

Sybok stares, nonplussed.

 

“You should take the baby to Doctor McCoy,” Flores continues in that same, casual tone. “He’ll know exactly what to do with it. He’s a good man, that McCoy, from a line of good men. A man born to carry the Vulcan species into the next chapter of its existence.”

 

“What— _ what are you?” _

 

“Can you still hear his voice?” Flores asks, ignoring his question. “That god of yours. Does he still whisper in your pretty pointy ears?”

 

Sybok steps back, eyes wide.

 

“I do not— I don’t know what you’re talking—”

 

“Oh, spare me, Sybok,” Flores says dismissively, finally turning around to look at him. “I can tell you about him, if you want. We’re of the same stock, he and I. I know who he is, and why he’s locked away.”

 

“You—” Sybok swallows. “You’re a god?”

 

Flores smiles humorlessly.

 

“It probably looks that way, from your perspective,” he says. “‘Phenomenal cosmic power’, and all that nonsense— I like that phrase, ‘phenomenal cosmic power’. I learned it when Doctor McCoy played _ Aladdin  _ for the kids— but to answer your question, no. I’m not a god. I’m a Q.”

 

“I… I don’t know what that is,” Sybok says a little helplessly.

 

Flores shrugs.

 

“Most people don’t,” he says. “We don’t get involved with mortals, for the most part— well, my brother Q has a rather unhealthy attachment to a Starfleet captain about eighty years into another timeline’s future, but he’s always been an odd one, though I suppose his darling  _ Jean-Luc  _ has his charms, even if he is a bit of a tightass.”

 

He pushes himself to his feet, his work rearranging itself with a flash of white light that makes Sybok gasp.

 

Flores’ mouth quirks.

 

“I’d rather you keep this between us, if you please,” he says, and he sounds nothing like the overly-informal, sleepy-eyed Spaniard that Sybok has spent the last few weeks eyeing despite the fact that he _ knew  _ he was hiding something. “I’m not really supposed to mess around here too much— too many things in the balance, you understand. Too many things I could destroy if I act rashly.”

 

Sybok swallows, nodding dumbly.

 

Flores smiles at him, suddenly slow and sleepy-eyed once more.

 

“That’s nice of you, Sy,” he says. “I knew you were a good guy.” He rises up onto his nose, touching his lips to Sybok’s bearded cheek. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

 

And he just— leaves. Leaves Sybok standing there, dumbstruck and cheek warm where Flores had kissed it. He presses his fingers to the spot, searching for the source of the heat and finding nothing.

 

He stands there for a very long time.

  
  


*.*

  
  


Sybok:

Doctor McCoy, I’m sorry to ask this of you, but the child we’d discussed during our last call has only become weaker in the days since. Would you mind terribly if I joined the Enterprise crew when they go to visit you?

 

Doctor McCoy:

That’s fine. How bad is it?

 

Sybok:

He’s stopped crying.

 

Doctor McCoy:

That’s bad?

I mean for Vulcans. For Humans it’s very bad.

 

Sybok:

It means something similar to Vulcan young. He has stopped asking for the connections required for comfort. He needs to be bonded. Immediately.

 

Leonard:

Fuck.

Right, okay, bring him over. How long are you staying?”

 

Sybok:

Just for the weekend, at most. I’m needed here, but I’d like the opportunity to check on your charges, if at all possible.

 

Leonard:

Yeah, that works. I’ll see you Saturday morning.

 

Sybok:

Thank you, Doctor.

  
  


*.*

  
  


The kids are gathered together for breakfast when Leonard decides to make the announcement. Not that he had a choice, really— Helen had shown up on his doorstep right as he’d started making waffles, arms folded and mouth pinched into a stern line that she learned from their mother.

 

He pushes himself to his feet and the table goes quiet, all eyes on him.

 

“I’ve got an announcement,” he says, signing along for Saavik’s benefit. “Regarding your general health.”

 

Dark eyes peer at him uncertainly. He hasn’t really talked about health, really— not since their initial check-ups on the Enterprise and those first two weeks of nightmares. That isn’t to say he hasn’t had these conversations since— they’ve just been one on one since they moved into the Big House and Leonard was sleeping in his own room again.

 

“Aunt Lenny is a trauma counselor,” he says, gesturing to his sister. “She specializes in helping people figure out what to do after something terrible happens to them. After something emotionally compromising happens to them, that changes the way the world works.”

 

His eyes flit from face to face, categorizing nervousness and fear and uncertainty in their little faces. Some of the older ones— Toryk, specifically, look rather irritated at the prospect.

 

“Aunt Lenny’s going to talk to each and every one of you for an hour every two weeks,” he says. “You’re going to have appointments, and you’re going to keep them. You can talk about whatever you like during those hour appointments, but you all have to go. Do you understand?”

 

“But Bonz,” Buddy starts carefully. “We’re better, now. We don’t have nearly as many nightmares as before.”

 

“We’re not so scared anymore,” Kitty adds. “We barely ever remember it by accident.”

 

Leonard sighs.

 

“I know,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean you’re better. Stuff like this… it can pop up at the worst times. It might not happen right here, right now, but what if it happens when you’re at school? When you’re all grown up and studying some alien planet on a science vessel?

 

“It isn’t just about talking about what you lived through,” he says. “Counseling is supposed to help you figure out what to do when your symptoms can’t be helped. I’m sorry to say some things are forever, and PTSD is one of those things.” He sighs, sitting back down. “Aunt Lenny’s going to schedule you all, and you’re all going to go. That’s the end of it.”

 

There’s a murmur of subdued assent, and, well, Leonard feels a bit shitty, messing up their morning with talk of things that need to be done.

 

“In other news, Uncle Jim and the rest of the crew are coming over this weekend.” He’d forgotten to mention it the last two days. “They’ll be staying indefinitely, as I understand it.”

 

Immediately, the melancholy dissipates, and they’re all a bunch of kids again, excitement flying through the air in the form of SSL, Standard, and Vulcan.

 

“Sounds like they’re happy,” Helen murmurs, glancing over at her older brother. “How about you?”

 

Leonard’s lip quirks.

 

“I miss Jim,” he says. “And I suppose I like the others well enough. It’ll be fun.”

 

“I think the word for that is ‘workplace proximity associates’,” Helen says dryly.

 

Leonard shrugs.

 

“I don’t know most of them very well,” he says. “But they’ve spent the last few days at least hiding in Jim’s apartment and he hasn’t complained yet, so I figure they’re alright.” He pauses. “Oh, Sybok’s coming too, if you wanna talk to him about how to handle Vulcan patients.”

 

“Why’s Sybok coming?” Helen’s brow furrows. “I can’t imagine he’s got the time for a field trip, considering.”

 

Leonard sobers.

 

“He’s bringing a kid,” he says. “A baby, not a year old.”

 

“You can’t handle a baby, Leo,” Helen says flatly. “You’re the Chief Medical Officer of a starship.”

 

“I know, I know— but nobody else’ll take him, and Sybok’s worried. The kid might _ die,  _ Len.”

 

Helen sighs.

 

“You’ve really stepped in it, Leo,” she says, rubbing at her temples. “You’ve really fucking stepped in it.”

 

“I can keep track of every single conversation at this table and there are three different languages involved,” Leonard says. “Trust me, sis, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, quick note— tomorrow I'll be posting one more chapter before heading out of the country on Thursday. I'll be back on the fourteenth of November, which means I'll have the next chapter up either the same day or the day after. While there will be no wifi, I will (hopefully) have plenty of time to go ahead and write a couple more chapters while I'm away, just to set myself up for a few more updates in the future. :)


	7. Chapter 7

The baby has been quiet the whole ride to the Atlanta station, which is somewhat disturbing, in Jim’s opinion. He hasn’t been around a lot of babies, granted, but generally, he’s heard they can be quite loud and demanding. The one in Sybok’s basket is neither of those things, even when his diaper starts to smell halfway through the journey and Sybok excuses himself to change the kid.

 

It’s weird, but everything’s weird, post-Vulcan, so really? Jim shouldn’t judge, especially considering the person being judged isn’t ten months old, yet. It’s not fair when they can’t prove him wrong under their own power.

 

The shuttle lands in Atlanta, and the crew— Jim, Spock, Uhura, Chekov, Scotty, Sulu and Ben, and Sybok and the Baby— all shuffle out with ballcaps (in the Humans’ case, at least) pulled low over their faces. Dot will be waiting for them about three blocks away from the station, far from the general traffic of the main shuttle dock to bring them all home.

 

Apparently, she’s driving a schoolbus. An antique, yellow bird schoolbus, complete with the black stripes and the collapsible stop sign.

 

Jim loves this woman.

 

“Before you ask, yes, I’ve got a permit for this thing,” she says as she pulls him into a hug. “How are ya? Leo said the paps are chasing you.”

 

Jim grimaces.

 

“The less said about it, the better,” he says.

 

“Sounds like you’ve got a story to tell,” Dot says, smiling as she pulls away. “But fine. Everybody, climb aboard— civilization awaits us.”

 

“I thought that’s what we were avoiding,” Scotty says, smiling slightly.

 

Dot scoffs.

 

“You call that civilization?” She says, shooting him a grin. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, my friend.”

 

Spock says something to Uhura in Vulcan that makes her stifle a giggle. Luckily, Jim knows Vulcan, and gets to be in on this particular joke.

 

 _“I feel the sudden need to reconsider this trip,”_ Spock said.

 

Oh, yeah, Jim thinks as he climbs the steps and collapses into the nearest seat. This is gonna be _fun._

  


*.*

  


“Bonz? Can I have a moment?”

 

Leonard smiles down at Kiddo. He’d given his permission to dye his hair as best as Lucian could manage after that first dinner Lucian had attended, and now, after a lot of effort on both Hobie and Lucian’s part, Kiddo’s hair has gone from it’s natural matte black to a brilliant, electric blue.

 

“Sure thing, Kiddo,” he says, setting down his medical journal. “What’s up?”

 

“I think I may be sick,” Kiddo says. “I have been having… very odd feelings.”

 

Leonard’s brow furrows.

 

“Explain.” He talks to Vulcans too much. He’s starting to sound like some of the grownups.

 

“I…” Kiddo trails off, searching for the proper words. “I believe… when I am near Lucian, I am warm. I am… satisfied.”

 

Leonard blinks.

 

“You… have a crush?” he says slowly. “Is that what you mean?”

 

“Wind has explained what a crush is to me,” Kiddo says, shaking his head. “Vulcans do not have crushes, by her definition.”

 

“... Okay.” Leonard sits back. “Care to explain why this is different?”

 

“I feel Lucian,” Kiddo says. “When he is not there. We have some kind of mental link, not unlike what you share with us.”

 

“Wait, what link do I share?”

 

“You have a parental bond with each of us,” Kiddo says. “We fish. Even T’Ruao and the older ones.”

 

Oh, shit. That— Leonard doesn’t know how telepathy works, exactly, or mental links, but that can’t be good. He’s a _crabby_ bastard sometimes.

 

He stomps down the questions he wants to ask, storing them away for later. This conversation isn’t about him, it’s about Kiddo, and anyway, the kid’s barely seven. It’s not like he’s going to be able to give Leonard a comprehensive explanation on the subject.

 

“Okay,” Leonard says. “So you have… linked with Lucian?”

 

“I believe so,” Kiddo admits. “I am unsure how. But there have been signs that lead me to believe that our bond is unusually strong.”

 

“How so? When did this happen?”

 

“Lucian speaks Vulcan now, and I did not teach him, nor did any of my brothers and sisters,” he says. “It happened three days ago.”

 

The same day Kiddo brought Lucian over for dinner.

 

“Vulcan is… a lot to pass on,” Leonard says hesitantly. “That’s a whole language.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You guys can’t normally pass along that much information without time and effort.” That’s how he learned to conjugate in Vulcan. It had taken T’Ruao three hours to properly transfer the information.

 

“We only touched a moment.”

 

“... Well, shi… shoot.” Leonard rubs a hand over his face. “Okay. Alright. Sybok’s coming over today, and so is Spock. Do you mind if I ask them about this?”

 

Kiddo bites his lip, something he never did until about three days ago.

 

“... I am aware that your knowledge of Vulcan telepathic links is spotty, at best,” he says after a moment. “As you have clearly been unaware of your bonds with us. I understand if you wish to go to them for explanation, as I am unable to give you one.”

 

“Yes, but do you want me to?” Leonard asks. “It’s your personal business.”

 

“I am… not adverse to it.”

 

That’s a reluctant yes.

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“Yes.”

 

That sounds a little more concrete, so Leonard takes it.

 

“Does Lucian know? That you’re linked, I mean.”

 

“He is aware.” Kiddo looks down. “I had a nightmare last night. When he confided in me that he’d seen similar things in his own dreams I felt it necessary to inform him of the possibility.”

 

Well, that’s out of the way, at least.

 

“How’d he take it?”

 

“He says he does not mind,” Kiddo admits. “He says that I am… cool, so it is no hardship to share a connection with me.”

 

Leonard wonders if Lucian is having similar feelings of warmth and satisfaction when he’s with Kiddo. He wonders if that has something to do with his easy acceptance of this new and strange aspect of Vulcans.

 

“Well, that’s good, at least. How do you feel about it?”

 

Kiddo looks up from under a puff of blue hair.

 

“Complete.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now, folks! Gotta get my sleep before heading out! Hopefully by this time tomorrow, I'll be in Poland.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Poland was awesome, the plane ride back was insanely tiring, but all in all it was pretty great. I've mentioned before in the comments that my family in America is very small. Going to Poland was literally having my own McCoy family reunion. Everybody's a cousin, or an aunt, or an uncle. There's an entire village of people and they're all related to me somehow and have kids and want to hang out and talk. It was pretty much everything I'm aiming to convey in this particular part chunk of the series.

Grandpa Willie has joined Leonard at his fire this evening, cheerfully ribbing Leonard’s guests in between fiddling with the tuning of his guitar and instructing Merle’s own efforts to play on his smaller, somewhat flimsier guitar beside him. Jim is deep in conversation with Leonard’s brother Reggie, switching between intergalactic politics and bar brawl stories without much thought. Uhura has Honey on her lap, and Saavik is keeping close to Spock, chairs pulled close to the fire so they can see each other’s hands. Sulu and his fiance have wandered off somewhere with his cousin Sally, likely to get another drink, and Chekov’s gone too, likely doing his best to chat up Gina, Lucian’s elder sister. It’s not going to end the way Chekov wants it too, Leonard’s sure, but Gina’s always been a bit of a flirt, and he’s certainly not going to deny a girl her amusements, especially when it involves Chekov tripping over himself in an effort to get her to laugh.

 

Scotty’s trashed, grinning dimly at the fire as it crackles in his face. Well, if he burns his eyebrows off, it’s not like they won’t grow back. Leonard’s already warned him twice to move back.

 

As for Leonard, he’s holding the baby Sybok brought him. The kid hasn’t even kicked, lying prone and quiet in Leonard’s arms no matter what he does. If it weren’t for the little heartbeat he can feel whenever his fingers brush against the kid’s little wrist, Leonard would think it had died.

 

It’s unnatural.

 

Sybok had warned him that a bond might not take, that the kid’s too far gone to form the parental bond that most children build so naturally between themselves and their caretakers, but goddammit, it’s one thing to hear it and another thing to witness it. Leonard hasn’t even felt a prickle of emotion from the baby, not hunger or discomfort or even exhaustion. He’s just… limp.

 

Sybok himself is also nowhere to be found, having started a conversation with Helen in regards to the practicalities of Human counseling and disappearing into her house about an hour ago to look at psychology journals. So it’s just Leonard and the baby, the baby who won’t wriggle or cry or even open his eyes.

 

“He’s quiet,” Imogen says softly from Leonard’s side. “Are all Vulcan babies this quiet?”

 

Leonard shakes his head.

 

“Sybok says they’re as fussy as Human babies,” he says. “Probably even more, because of the telepathy.”

 

“That’s not good, then, that he’s not responding to anything.”

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

“Can I hold him?”

 

Leonard looks up.

 

“What?”

 

“You’ve been carrying him around since they got here,” Imogen says. “Babies don’t like strangers. Maybe he’ll react to being passed around.”

 

It’s stupid, really, but Leonard’s fresh out of ideas besides causing the kid pain, and he doesn’t want to do that. Besides, his arm’s cramped from being in the same position for so long, and he doesn’t think the sinking feeling in his stomach will be particularly good for the baby, anyway.

 

Wordlessly, he hands the baby over. Imogen doesn’t have any kids of her own— she can’t have any, and anyway, she’s never been particularly attached to the idea of pushing on out of a hole the size of an apple— but she’s the aunt of many, many children, and she knows how to hold a baby, how to support its neck and cradle it close.

 

“You’re so handsome,” she says softly, holding the baby up to look at his round, green face. “Oh, I bet you’re going to grow up a ladykiller. Or gentlemankiller, whichever works.”

 

Leonard snorts. Imogen has always had a way with words.

 

Imogen coos at the baby.

 

“Come on, little man, how about you open your eyes for Aunt Immy?” she says, rocking him gently. “I bet you have beautiful eyes, don’t you? Come on, open your— oh.”

 

Leonard looks over to see little fists pull upwards towards the baby’s face, face screwed up against some perceived discomfort.

 

“Imogen—”

 

The baby lets out a wail, quiet but clear in the sudden hush.

 

Imogen stares dumbly for a moment, surprise and confusion clear on her face. She looks over at Leonard.

 

“He’s hungry,” she says, and her eyes are even wider than usual, round and scared as she stares at Leonard.

 

He jerks into action, fumbling for the baby bottle tucked into the pocket of his armrest before handing it to her. In a well-practiced motion, she tucks the baby into her elbow and offers him the bottle.

 

He takes it. He actually takes it, a first from what Leonard’s heard. Sybok’s been feeding him intravenously, the last few days.

 

“... Well, Imogen,” Grandpa Willie says, eyebrows raised. “I’m thinking ‘Momma’ is closer to the mark, regarding this little fella.”

 

Imogen doesn’t answer, too focused on the baby and the feel of his skin where his cheek presses into her hand, but Leonard supposes she doesn’t really need his confirmation on that front.

 

He wonders how badly this development might complicate things.

  
  


*.*

  
  


No matter what Bonz is to the children under his care, he is still Human, and Humans biologically require more sleep than Vulcans. That is why certain things— like morning meals— have fallen under the eldest children’s purview.

 

T’Lirna rather likes the twilight hours of each new day. There’s not much time spent purely among the other Vulcans of her age group, and she has to admit, the freedom given to them in those quiet morning hours are a comfort, in and of themselves.

 

It’s nice, sometimes, to be able to talk about normal things without worrying what little ears might overhear them, or where Bonz might eavesdrop and subsequently worry. He does his best, but sometimes, the children have learned, dark things must be spoken of, heedless of the implications.

 

This particular morning isn’t full of dark things, however. In fact, Korenn’s turned on the stereo, and is taking turns twirling them all around the kitchen in between preparations.

 

_ “I want a girl with a short skirt and a looooong— jacket!” _ He crows as he lifts his newly-brunette bondmate and spins her before setting her back down.

 

“Korenn!” T’Parna squeals, unable to quite hold in a giggle as she bats at his shoulder. “You’ll wake the whole house!”

 

“Oh, they will not hear me,” he says, drawing Birnuk into his next loop around the kitchen. “Humans will sleep through anything when it is this early, and anyway, our siblings are all enjoying their own alone time upstairs.”

 

Which, point. When it comes time to wake everyone for breakfast, most of the younger children are already dressed and collected into the handful of rooms closest to the stairs to play.

 

“S-s-still,” Birnuk says as he’s released to return to his work chopping tomatoes. “There’s a b-b-b-baby in the house. Maybe we should be q-q-quieter?”

 

Imogen and the baby spent the night in the Big House after the events of the previous evening, Imogen nervous of straying too far away from Healer Sybok until the health of the newly-named Horatio was assured.

 

“Ah, but that is why I am so satisfied on this fine morning,” Korenn says, pausing to lean on the counter between Birnuk and Toryk. “A baby, comfortably recovering in the arms of a Human. Do you not know what this could mean?”

 

“I am unsure I care,” Toryk says, elbowing Korenn in the ribs. “Your cheerfulness is unseemly.”

 

“Oh, do not be so snobbish, Toryk,” Korenn says, massaging his ribs. “It means the world to us, to our place in the McCoy home.”

 

“Elaborate,” T’Parna asks, eyes sparkling with interest as she rolls tofu, onions, and tomatoes carefully into kudzu leaves with careful fingers.

 

“Aunt Immy has taken over the care of a Vulcan child,” Korenn says, leaning forward. “You all know as well as I do that Horatio will not easily be parted from her so young, not after having already lost both biological parents, and no one will take him after spending his formative years solely among Humans, even if Aunt Immy were to be so callous as to offer him to a family.”

 

“What does that have to do with us?” Sturek asks, looking up from his PADD. It was decided early on that he was a hindrance in the kitchen, so usually only joined them for the company.

 

“It means that Bonz will realize he does not have to bow to the Council’s will regarding our future placement,” Korenn says. “He will be able to recognize that we do not require a Vulcan family— or in our case, a career— and allow us to remain with him until we are of a proper age to care for ourselves. Likely even longer than that.”

 

“But that is impossible,” T’Urza points out. “Bonz has made it clear that he will be returning to the _ Enterprise  _ as soon as it becomes operational.”

 

Korenn flaps a dismissive hand.

 

“Arrangements can be made, as they are made for all Starfleet officers with families,” he says. “The point is, we would remain in Bonz’s care. He would not feel pressured to accept any family that might inquire as to our placement.”

 

“Why would you want that?” Toryk says, scoffing. “The longer we stay here, the less likely we will be able to return to proper Vulcan society. I do not wished to be ostracized by my own race.”

 

“You want to be adopted?”

 

“I want to be a Vulcan,” Toryk says. “And I will not be a Vulcan in the eyes of the elders if I am not quickly relocated to a family of suitable standard.”

 

“You would leave Bonz,” T’Lanar says quietly, silencing any argument from the others.

 

“I feel it is necessary. Bonz may be well-meaning, but that does not mean he does not harm our prospects simply by attempting to care for us.”

 

His bondmate straightens, mouth a thin, grim line for the first time since landing on Earth.

 

“I respect your opinion,” T’Lanar says, voice flat and shoulders squared. “But be aware that I will remain with Bonz, regardless of the implications it has on my place in society.”

 

“Oh, shit,” Sortek murmurs, looking between T’Lanar and Toryk with unusually wide eyes. There’s a beat of silence, then two.

 

“We should finish preparing breakfast,” T’Ruao says firmly, picking up her knife once more. “Birnuk, leave the tomatoes for now, and start on the strawberries. Kiddo has become quite partial to them, as of late. Sturek, get out of the way. We need the counter.”

 

There’s a pause, and then everyone jerks into movement, T’Parna focusing on her kudzu rolls with renewed vigor as they all graciously ignore what just happened.

 

T’Lirna was wrong, about this morning. It seems the lightness of its beginning has quickly been sapped of all joy.

 

Good job, Toryk.


	9. Chapter 9

 

There’s a mirror in the living room, directly across from the open-air kitchen, and if you sit at exactly the right angle in the hall leading downstairs, you can see everything in the reflection without anyone seeing you.

 

It’s become Leonard’s favorite spot in the house, particularly in the early mornings.

 

He knows teenagers like their privacy, or at least the illusion of it, and as much as it hurts to sometimes hear them talk of their families, about the things they miss about home, he never mentions the things he hears. In a way, he’s happy to hear them talk about it. A burden shared is a burden halved, after all, and it’s nice to see them getting along well enough to talk to each other about the stuff that matters to them.

 

On this particular morning, Korenn’s unusually happy, singing along to the radio as he bounces from dance partner to dance partner, making each of them smile in turn between chitchat and prep work. It’s a good morning, and Leonard may or may not have a PADD recording every moment of it in the reflection of the mirror.

 

He hears a creak from the staircase. When he looks over, he sees Spock, frozen halfway down the steps. Turning off the PADD, he puts a finger to his lips and points at the mirror.

 

Curious, Spock moves closer, settling against the wall beside him to look.

 

“They do this every morning,” Leonard whispers. “When I wake up early enough, I come down to watch.”

 

“They dance like Humans,” Spock murmurs.

 

“They’re having fun.” Leonard tucks the PADD under his arm and gestures for Spock to follow him. “C’mon. I’ve got tea in the back tearoom, if you want some. Best to leave them to it.”

 

Spock nods and follows quietly behind as Leonard leads him to the back of the house, nudging open the door to his grandmother’s favorite room in the entire house and shutting it again once Spock’s inside.

 

“I haven’t got anything in the way of Vulcan teas,” he says at a normal volume. “But I’ve got most everything Human. Any preference?”

 

“English breakfast, if you have it.”

 

Leonard nods, ambling over to the small counter in the corner and filling up the small instant kettle with water. Flicking it on, he sets about pulling out cups, filling the sugar bowl and replicating some milk as he settles everything on a small, silver tray.

 

“Daisy, Dolly, Reba, and Sweetie like to spend their afternoons in here,” Leonard says over his shoulder. “They all dress up and play at being ladies with the Ulrich triplets— that’s my cousin Penelope’s daughters, Gale, Donna, and Judy.”

 

“I have observed that it is quite common in your family to have multitudes of children in a single pregnancy,” Spock says.

 

Leonard hums.

 

“Yeah. Pop says we learned it from the wolves,” he says. “There’s a pack of swamp wolves on the property that were moved here when the land was turned into a reserve sometime in the late twenty-first century— they’re the last pack in the world, actually. They live mostly further north of the main housing, though— there’s a bit of marshland that they’re quite happy to roam in.”

 

“Fascinating,” Spock says. “You are aware, of course, there is a genetic component to such manners of birth.”

 

“Of course— but it makes a good story.” Leonard grins. “Our family crest is a swamp wolf.”

 

“Family crest?”

 

“Oh yeah.” Leonard rolls up the sleeve of his t-shirt, revealing a shoulder tattoo of a wolf’s head backed by two cross rifles. “See? Swamp wolf.”

 

“And primitive weaponry.” Spock’s eyebrows have disappeared under his bowl-cut. Leonard supposes he doesn’t spend much time around tattooed Humans.

 

“That’s to do with our history,” Leonard says, rolling his sleeve back down. “Ever heard of the Hatfield-McCoy feud?”

 

“... I have come across mentions of it.”

 

“They were my ancestors,” Leonard says. “Not the best history, but again, it makes a good story.”

 

“If you believe it does.”

 

Leonard snorts and goes back to the tea, pouring the hot water into a serviceable teapot and pulling out teabags.

 

“So,” he says, bringing over the tea tray and setting it on the small table between them. “How are you liking Georgia?”

 

“It is unlike anywhere I have been before,” Spock says diplomatically. “... I find the lack of reporters a pleasant change.”

 

“Yeah, they can be ruthless, I hear,” Leonard says, crossing his legs. “But they won’t make it past the gate if they do come, Pop’s made sure of it.” Mostly by arming a few cousins with shotgun’s full of rock salt, but he’s going to keep that to himself.

 

“The precaution is appreciated.”

 

“I figured it would be. Jim told me a little bit about how you guys were living, the last few days.”

 

“The Captain’s home had the best security,” Spock says. “The guard refused to allow anyone who wasn’t a friend of the Captain’s to enter.”

 

“Yeah, Jeremy’s a good guy. Jim’s got people looking for him every year for an interview about the Kelvin, so he kinda needed that.” Leonard grimaces. “Last year somebody used rocket boots to get to his window.”

 

“That is… inappropriate.”

 

“Tell me about it.” Leonard pauses. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

 

“Of course, Doctor.”

 

“One of my kids told me I share… a parental bond?” Leonard pauses. “I’d like to know what that entails, if possible.”

 

“... It is unsurprising that a bond has formed, I suppose,” Spock says after a moment. “The children seem rather attached to you.”

 

“Thanks. Now what does it mean?”

 

“It means they consider you a parent, Doctor, or an approximation of one.” Spock pauses. “Has the purpose of their name for you been explained?”

 

“‘It is an identifier for my position as a necessary member of the familial unit that is not biologically related or Vulcan,’” Leonard recites. “Yeah, T’Parna explained it to me. She says Vulcans like exact words for things.”

 

“It is efficient and logical,” Spock says. “As their definition explains, your purpose in their lives is to act as a guardian, giving them guidance in as many subjects as you are able. The parental bond is simply a side-effect of mutual affection between parent and child. This allows an increased understanding on the parent’s part of their child’s emotional, psychological, and intellectual needs, as well as allows the child to learn control based on their parent’s own handling of their emotion.”

 

“I don’t feel anything, though— not without touching them.”

 

“You do.” Spock shifts, sipping his tea. “It is not unusual to see you respond to a child’s need before they voice it, whether it be something as simple as passing a pickle jar or offering them the physical closeness they seem to desire from you. They, in return, mimic your emotional control as they believe is necessary— an example being the day we returned to Earth.”

 

Leonard thinks back to the grabby reporters, thinks of the way he drew himself up and did his best to fill the air with exactly how pissed he was.

 

“So when they did…” He pauses. “I was projecting, so they projected?”

 

“While Humans can recognize the body language associated with certain emotional states, Vulcans may telepathically project whatever they wish,” Spock says. “Typically, it is considered impolite to do so, a loss of control that is frowned upon, as it is considered intimate and an invasion.”

 

“Have you noticed them doing it since?” Leonard asks.

 

“I have only been here a day,” Spock points out. “Though I believe they are making use of the ability. The atmosphere of the property is… perhaps you would use the word _ warm.” _

 

A metaphor. Spock’s really coming down to his level to explain this, isn’t he?

 

“The children share mental and physical contact quite carelessly,” Spock continues. “Another thing that is frowned upon, despite the consensual context of their actions. Projection is simply another means of communication, in their situation, and I would not be surprised if they used it as freely to broadcast affection or distaste or any other feeling, depending on their environment. I would highly suggest you discourage them from using projection in such a way, or at least teach them to use it more sparingly.”

 

Leonard’s brow furrows as a particular realization dawns. The Force. He’s seriously going to have to talk to his kids about the Force.

 

“I can’t explain it in telepathic or cultural terms,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Christ, I’m going to be teaching them how to be _ Jedi.” _

 

“I do not understand the term ‘Jedi’,” Spock says.

 

Leonard flaps a hand at him.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Or ask Jim. It’s too silly for me to explain to a grownup.”

 

“Many Human things are silly,” Spock says. “It is to be expected of an illogical species.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” Leonard grunts, rolling his eyes. “It’s almost eight, which means breakfast. If we move quick enough, we might catch the morning musical.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

Leonard flashes him a small smile.

 

“Most of the little fish are awake,” he says. “But the older kids picked up a few of my habits from the ship. If we wait at the bottom of the stairs you’ll be able to hear them sing when they go to get everyone down for breakfast. They’re not half-bad, either.”

 

Spock blinks.

 

“What do they sing?” he asks. “Something Terran, I assume.”

 

Leonard nods.

 

_ “Good Morning My Angel, _ by Mama Coal,” he says. “It’s adorable. Wanna see?”

 

Spock nods, setting down his teacup.

 

Seems Spock’s a little less worried about propriety than he seems.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to post! I've fallen down the Stranger Things rabbit hole and can't get out. But here! New Chapter! Just for you guys!

Sybok quite likes the way things appear to be going within the McCoy Estate. While some things come as a surprise (Spock’s _ face, _ his true, utter shock at the appearance of the little blue-haired boy is a memory Sybok will cherish forever), a lot of things don’t, namely, the subject of bonding.

Besides Leonard’s questions regarding healthy behaviors between young bondmates (specifically regarding customs and attitudes towards sex, which was uncomfortable for both of them, really, but Sybok has already promised to enlist T’Pring’s help regarding the conversation that needs to be had. She has always excelled when it comes to matters best handled with a dry, clinical explanation), a new and fascinating situation has come to light.

Kiddo— the blue-haired Vulcan that Sybok likes on principal— has formed a spontaneous bond with one of Leonard’s nephews, a similarly green-haired boy about twice his age.

It happens, sometimes, such bonds, and it is a matter of course that such spontaneity is accepted and ignored. It speaks of a high mental compatibility, and bonds such as that are cherished and revered, if only because they are so rare. Perhaps one in every four billion Vulcans ever find someone so perfectly complementary to them, and now, the fact that it happened despite their lowered numbers is… remarkable.

On the other hand, the bond happened with a Human. Xenophobia still runs rampant among the Vulcan people, or at least the belief of superiority and isolationism, and such a bond may be considered a willful act on Kiddo’s part, rather than the honest and accidental truth that is t’hy’la. Such a bond could cause problems, both for Kiddo and Lucian McCoy, and they may be asked to sever it, regardless of the mental and emotional damage it may cause them both.

That’s why he asked for Leonard to have both boys and Lucian’s parents to be present for the conversation Sybok needs to now have.

William McCoy looks quite like his cousin, which isn’t so surprising, considering that all the McCoy men have the same blue eyes and the same, square chin. His wife, Annette, hails from Louisiana, and speaks with a strange mixture of English and French that most of the McCoys have more or less absorbed into their own speech, provided the speaker in question is one of the many McCoys who prefer to remain on the property for their adult lives.

(Siria, Dot’s Orion wife, is one such woman, having chosen to involve herself in the insular community of the McCoy Estate and the nearby town rather than bow to the pressure exerted upon her by certain Starfleet officials— because all former slaves have no other wish than to throw themselves into the line of fire for the rest of their careers.)

William— or Bill, as he asks to be called, listens to Sybok’s careful explanation of the bond, silent and thoughtful as Sybok expounds on the importance of Vulcan mental links and the various forms in which they can manifest. He listens to it all, legs crossed and a glass of sweet tea balanced on his knee, and waits for Sybok to finish.

“So…” he starts, tone deliberate as he lets his thoughts align. “The bond between Lucian and Kiddo… is it of a platonic nature, or romantic?”

People say Southern accents sound unintelligent. Sybok has yet to understand how, as every question he’s been posed in the Georgian, Louisiana, North Carolina, or Kentucky accents.

“It is beyond either concept,” Sybok says. “For a link to form as it has between the boys, there must be a… a perfect match, let’s call it. Their minds are perfect for one another, the flaws of one made up for by the strengths of the other. That being said, it isn’t… unusual for the relationship to turn romantic.”

“So what you’re tellin’ me is, they’re soulmates,” Bill drawls out slowly.

“Pretty much.” Leonard makes a face. “And I ain’t pullin’ your leg, neither.”

Another interesting thing Sybok has observed is that Leonard’s accent thickens according to which family member he’s speaking to. He doesn’t appear to notice it, either.

Bill glnces at Annette, who shrugs.

“Solves some things, I guess,” she offers, looking over at Lucian. “If all this is settled, that means no dating drama when you hit high school, right?”

“Momma!” Lucian’s cheeks go pink, embarrassed.

“What?” she asks. “Gina’s damn near lost her mind over her newest beau— Jeremy? Jamie?”

“She calls herself Janice, nowadays,” Bill corrects. “But that’s a recent thing.” He looks back to Sybok. “Lucian’s told us about his side of things, as he understands them. He seems alright with it. Right, Lucian?”

The green-haired boy’s flush recedes slightly as he looks over at Kiddo, feet tucked under himself as he leans against the arm of the couch.

“Yeah,” he says. “I like Kiddo. He’s pretty awesome, even if he’s still little.”

“Statistically, I will be taller than most Human males before I am twenty,” Kiddo says. “And you are an average Human being— physically, at least. So it is incredibly likely that you will be the little one between the pair of us.”

Leonard snorts at the odd look that crosses Lucian’s face at that, but Sybok feels something in his stomach relax. There’s something about the easy acceptance Lucian’s parents give, the way Lucian seems to have every symptom of a t’hy’la bond thirty times over, having never had a day of Vulcan training or been forced to conform to the rigid societal standards of his new bondmate’s people.

The fact that they’re pressed together from shoulder to elbow to thigh on a couch that could easily fit four is cute, too, but Sybok’s going to keep that particular observation to himself.

*.*

“Bonz, Aunt Annie says I may ride horses with Browning and Sweeney if you teach me how.”

Leonard winces at how quickly Jim’s head whips around from his conversation with Spock.

“You can ride horses?” he asks. “You _ have _ horses?”

“… Yeah, there are horses on the property, but technically only one is mine.”

“Aunt Annie says you used to ride in the rodeo with Uncle Reggie,” Ace says helpfully, which makes Jim’s eyes go even wider. “She showed me holos. I would like to learn to do that.”

“One, not on your life are you gonna be riding bulls,” Leonard says. “That’s why Uncle Reggie’s got a limp. Two, shut the fu— fudge up, Jim.”

Jim looks like Christmas came early, eyes sparkling as he looks between Ace and Leonard.

“All those times you yelled at _ me _ for doing stupid shi— stuff,” Jim starts. “And you were a  _ bullrider?” _

“Mostly I was a roper,” Leonard says. “But it doesn’t matter. Yes, Ace, I’ll teach you to ride. Let me just get changed.”

Ace gives him happy eyes, mouth quirking up at the edges.

“Browning rides ‘bucking broncos’,” he hears Ace tell Jim and Spock as he heads into the house. “He says that it would be too much for me now, but with my slight frame I might make a good jockey. I think I would like that— the uniforms are quite colorful.”

“I’ll bet on your horse every race,” Jim promises him. “And Bones will, too.”

Leonard would like to point out that while yes, he definitely would bet on Ace kicking ass in the races, because Vulcans have a certain mentality about being the best, he definitely does not approve of one of his fishies jockeying, no matter how awesome the uniforms are.

Nope, not happening.


	11. Chapter 11

Fast horses get bugfuck crazy names. Them’s the rules, and the McCoys have stuck to them. Which is why Leonard is expecting the little noise of confusion Ace makes when he reads the name on the stall door.

“Greasy Grass?” He asks, looking up.

“American history thing,” Leonard says without looking up as he saddles the dappled gray stallion known as Greasy. “Battle of the Little Bighorn, it’s also called, or Custer’s Last Stand. A bunch of Natives rightfully kicked the ass of a contingent of the American Army. Uncle Beau can explain it better than me.”

Ace frowns but nods anyway.

“Greasy Grass is a sweetie,” Leonard says. “He’s older, but he’s good for beginners— all the kids ride him at some point or another.”

“Which horse will you ride?” Ace asks.

“Mine.” Leonard jerks his thumb towards the pure black stallion in the stall opposite Greasy Grass. “That’s Starman Devil. He’s a little bit older now, too, but he’s still as mean as he was when last I rode him.”

He’d bitten Leonard rather than take the apple offered when they’d first walked into the stable— a punishment, no doubt, for disappearing to the Academy for as long as he did. Starman always considered Leonard to be his Human.

“First thing you gotta learn,” he says as he pulls the straps comfortably tight around Greasy’s round belly. “Is how to saddle your horse. How much of that did you get, Ace?”

Ace blinks.

“I believe I understand it in theory,” he says.

“Good,” Leonard says. He pulls at a different strap, and everything loosens. "Now you try.”

Ace makes a face, and Leonard hides his grin.

They’re gonna be here a while.

*.*

Sunday night, Uncle Willie hands Sybok an extra large Hershey bar with a wink and ambles off to see what his son Hunter’s family is doing. As much as Sybok likes to think himself a rebel, he’s never actually had chocolate before, so he situates himself close to Doctor McCoy— just in case.

He eats the whole thing in a few bites, gagging slightly at the sweetness, and waits, watching curiously as Leonard is dragged into a drinking contest in which the entire purpose seems to simply be draining your mason jar of its contents more quickly than your opponents. Leonard doesn’t win, but he’s a close second, gasping and laughing as slams his empty jar on his knee.

His face is red with good humor and drink when he leans back in his chair and turns to Sybok, projecting warmth and joviality as he leans over to say something. Sybok grins back at him, infected by the doctor’s easy presence, and leans forward before the idea can fully form in his mind.

Doctor McCoy tastes of shock and homemade cinnamon liquor and it makes Sybok want to laugh, so he does. He feel fuzzy, and soft, and _ fantastic. _

“You’re drunk,” Leonard says in surprise as he pulls away, ignoring the way someone— probably Kirk— wolf whistles in their direction.

“I believe I am, Doctor,” Sybok agrees. “Your grandfather gave me Hershey’s.”

Leonard blinks at him, then laughs brightly.

“Well, at least we’re not cousins,” he says, settling back in his chair.

“Has that happened before?” Sybok asks.

“More times than any of us care to admit. That’s why we’ve got rules about bringing people over, now.”

*.*

As much as Jim likes to pretend that he’s a proud, independent starship captain who don’t need no man, the fact is, he’s a drama queen, and drama queens need audiences, audiences like Leonard. Audiences who, unfortunately, have little time to spare for drama when juggling forty-six children on a daily basis and have moved passed sharing a dorm room about a horse’s ass wider than an actual jail cell.

Naturally, because Jim is himself, this just means that Leonard is now accosted in his bedroom, in that final hour between wakefulness and sleep that he used to be so fond of.

Leonard is very, _ very _ tired.

This particular evening is no different, and just after midnight, after the kids have all been put to bed, Leonard’s door creaks open and Jim creeps in, wearing a pair of sweats emblazoned with the Starfleet Academy crest and a tank top.

Leonard got used to Jim’s strange habits quickly, back in San Francisco, and so he barely has to think about it when he holds up the edge of the blankets for Jim to slip under and settle in beside him.

“Sybok’s a good guy,” he says softly. “It’s a shame he had to leave.”

Leonard hums.

“People need him,” he says. “As sorry as I am to see him go, he’s got work to do.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jim pauses. “Are you into him?”

“Um.” Leonard blinks, frowning. “No? Not really. I mean, maybe, if I had more time to get to know him, but that could be said for pretty much anybody, when it comes to me. I’m pretty easy.”

“I beg to differ,” Jim says, smiling slightly.

“You’re different, Jim. You’re my best friend.”

Jim hums but doesn’t answer, burrowing his face into Leonard’s pillow and closing his eyes.

“I think I’ve got a crush,” he says after a minute, eyes still shut.

“Oh?” Leonard asks. “And which lucky McCoy has caught your eye today?”

“Not a McCoy.”

“Oh.” Leonard blinks. “Okay. One of the crew, then? Scotty, mayhaps?”

Jim shakes his head.

“Nope.”

“Okay. Sulu? Or Ben, maybe?” Not viable options, but Leonard gets the feeling they’d be open to a little experimentation with a pretty blond with blowjob lips.

“No, but don’t think I haven’t caught their looks. Neither of them are subtle.”

Leonard nods thoughtfully.

“Well, if it were Chekov— and it isn’t— I’d hit you,” he says. “But it’s not Chekov.”

“You’re being gross, Bones.” Jim wrinkles his nose. “It’s Spock.”

“Bullshit.” The word comes out before Leonard can even think about it, because while Spock has proven to be substantially less of a dick than originally perceived, that doesn’t mean a whole lot, in the grand scheme of things. He left Jim on an _ ice planet,  _ for fuck’s sake.

“Bullshit on your bullshit,” Jim says. “I’m being serious.”

“You’re not,” Leonard insists. “You’re not, because then that means that you— my best, stupidest friend— are thinking about sleeping with a guy that tried to have you kicked out of Starfleet and also left you to die on a barren wasteland.”

“I mean, yeah, but—“

“A guy who is currently dating one of the most powerful, terrifying women in our graduating class, the woman that you got beat up over when trying to defend her honor from Cupcake.”

“Bones—“

“A guy who I’m pretty sure hates you.”

Jim rubs his palms together.

“I’ve always been one for the unobtainables,” he says, giving Leonard a weak smile and a one-shouldered shrug. “It won’t work, obviously— he’s in a relationship, and I want him for my first officer, so…” he shrugs again. “Still. I figure I ought to tell you, you know, before you notice.”

Leonard sighs.

“Is this one you’ll be able to get over?” he asks. “Because I remember how bad it was with Gary, and how that _ crush  _ ended up.”

Jim winces.

“It’s not going to be like that,” he promises. “Honestly, I think… I think we could really be friends? He’s… I don’t know. I get the feeling that… I just…”

“Come on, Jim, spit it out.”

Jim sighs, rubbing at his eyes.

“It just feels… right,” he says finally. “Having him with me. Kind of like you but… different. Stronger.”

Leonard’s stomach drops.

“Do you think this has something to do with the meld you had with old Spock?” he asks quietly.

“Maybe? I don’t think so. This started after. When he tried to strangle me.”

Another reason Leonard is not liking the sound of this.

“Elaborate, Jim. Is it different from other crushes? How?”

“You seem really interested, Bones.”

“I don’t wanna be stuck on a ship with a pining Kirk and a pissy Vulcan, is all,” Leonard says, pointedly not thinking about his conversations with Sybok and the direct skin-to-skin contact that happened on the bridge between Jim and Spock the day of the Narada Incident. “You know they’re proximity telepaths too, right?”

Jim blinks, forehead wrinkling.

“Only the really strong ones,” Jim says. “Bones, you realize most Vulcans telepathically aren’t very powerful, don’t you? Besides like, trained mind healers, most of them can’t even form bonds without help from a priest.”

“Really?” Leonard asks, brow furrowing. “How’d you know that?”

“… That’s from old Spock, I think,” Jim admits.

Oh. Great. Awesome.

“Tell me about your crush,” Leonard says again. “Tell me how it makes you feel.”

“You’ve been spending too much time around trauma patients,” Jim says, arching an eyebrow. “You’re starting to sound like a therapist.”

“I’m starting to sound like a very tired dad,” Leonard corrects. “Either tell me or don’t, but don’t tease me, Jim.”

Jim sighs.

“It’s… different,” he admits. “From all the others. It feels... needed? I like his company. I feel better in his company. I notice when he’s not there.”

That sounds familiar and God, Leonard doesn’t want to deal with this shit.

“Bones?”

Leonard bites his lip. He doesn’t want to be the one to tell Jim he’s accidentally bonded with an insecure half-Vulcan who also might end up being his subordinate on the starship that he’s definitely getting. Sybok did mention that these kinds of bonds can sometimes be platonic…

“It sounds like he’s become very important to you,” Leonard says. “Beats me as to why, considering he’s a prick about certain shit, but I guess he’s been trying. It’s probably not a crush.” Not _ just _ a crush, anyway.

“You don’t?” Jim asks. “That’s good. I was kinda scared, when I thought of Uhura finding out.”

Oh yeah, that’s going to be a shitstorm.

“I’m going to try and get some sleep,” Leonard says abruptly. “You can be quiet or leave.”

Jim smiles at him, and goddammit, it’s like the sun just rose on the other side of his pillow.

“I guess I’ll try and catch a few zees too,” he says. “Thanks, Bonesy, you’re a real help.”

Leonard feels a pang of guilt, and promptly shoves it away. He is not dealing with Jim’s love life, not unless he absolutely has to.

“Good night, Jim.”

“Night, Bones.”


	12. Chapter 12

Sybok wants to bang his head against a wall, but restrains himself, if only because he doesn’t feel like explaining the action to his grandmother. It’s Monday night. He literally got back to tent city seven hours ago.

“Six families have relinquished themselves of their responsibilities to their children,” T’Pau says, hands folded neatly in her lap as she looks up at her grandson. “The children are all exhibiting signs of lapsed emotional control, and refuse to keep the names their families gave them. Therefore, we are required to place them.”

Sybok sighs.

“What are the ages?” he asks tiredly. “Not that it matters, I’m sure— Doctor McCoy will take them, regardless— but tell me. How old are they?”

“Nineteen, fifteen, two twelve year olds, two nine year olds, and two seven year olds,” T’Pau says. “One recently bonded pair among them.”

The nine year olds, probably. Oh, life’s just fantastic.

“I’ll arrange to take them to the McCoy Estate in the morning,” Sybok says, reaching for a PADD. “I won’t be able to stay, but—“

“Unnecessary that will be, grandson,” T’Pau says, holding up a hand. “Thou hast too much work to do here, and read thine report, I have. Many of the children in Doctor McCoy’s care require bonds, and soon.”

Sybok pauses.

“You… you plan to match them?” he asks after a moment.

“I do,” T’Pau says with a nod. “I will take T’Pring with me. She is trained in the art of marital bonds.”

Sybok stares. Matchmaking is a task saved for the matriarch of a Vulcan house, as the task requires a careful understanding of the child in question’s mind, as well as the mind of any potential suitor. The fact that his grandmother has decided to take on the project for Doctor McCoy… it implies quite a lot.

“He’s going to be my uncle,” Sybok says, bemused. There goes Doctor McCoy’s remark about kissing cousins. “You’re adopting him as a ward of the Schn’T’Gai House.”

T’Pau arches an eyebrow.

“If my grandson may take on the responsibility of a Human ward, I am also able,” she says. “And I have the advantage, as my ward is already fully grown.”

Sybok can’t help it; he laughs.

“I’m telling Michael,” he says, grinning. “She’s got competition.”

“I believe thou must first find her,” T’Pau says. “So I am not concerned.”

Sybok snorts and looks down at his PADD, at the names the children refuse to bear any longer, spurned by their parents in an effort to regain some manner of emotional control. These children will have it just as hard if not harder than the children already in Leonard’s care— after all, their parents are still alive. They just don’t want them.

“When are you leaving?” he asks, looking up.

“Tomorrow,” T’Pau says. “A message was sent this morning informing Doctor McCoy of my arrival.”

Which means that Leonard is most definitely panicking. God, if only Sybok had stayed a few extra hours in order to witness it.

“I think you’ll find it interesting,” Sybok says honestly. “The McCoys are… incredibly Human.”

“Grandson,” T’Pau says slowly. “I believe that is what has made them so effective.”

*.*

It’s safe to say that Leonard? Leonard is panicking.

It’s not every day a world leader decides to spend a few weeks at your house helping you sort out specific Vulcan customs and requirements for your adopted children along with bringing you a few more kids to take care of. It can be overwhelming, at times, how weirdly important Leonard seems to be accidentally becoming.

Imogen’s being kind about it, having lived through his college years and dating years and pretty much everything leading up to his running away to join Starfleet, and has opened up her home to Leonard’s crew so he can make space for the new arrivals.

“It doesn’t matter what you say,” Imogen tells Uhura quietly, rocking Horatio absently as she leads them down one of the thousands of intersecting paths towards her house. “Leo’ll work himself up into a tizzy and snap at anyone who gets in his way. Best to leave him be, for now. Who knows, we might come back to waxed floors.”

Uhura chuckles, but Imogen’s completely serious, and plans on stopping by during the bonfires with a magic brownie and a six pack, just to calm him down a little.

It might even work, this time.

*.*

“So, the first of the month is coming up,” Hobie says, idly tugging a silver-handled brush through T’Lanar’s hair. “Usually, McCoy teens get together in the meadow by the creek and have a bit of a party. Are you guys in?”

All the older Vulcans assembled (all of them sans Toryk, who has decided to do some reading, AKA, hide from his displeased bondmate) look to T’Ruao, who is perched on the edge of Hobie’s makeup counter.

“I do not believe Bonz will mind,” she says after a moment. “Ruron?”

Ruron shrugs.

“It sounds interesting,” he says. “I’m in.”

“Great!” Hobie says brightly, correctly recognizing his assent as the answer of the entire group. “We all get together and get drunk and dance. Do you guys need anything specific for that kind of merrymakin’?”

There’s a pause as the Vulcans all look at each other.

“Um… chocolate is the best,” Korenn offers after a moment. “If intoxication is the aim.”

Hobie blinks.

“Well, only get drunk if you wanna,” Hobie says, frowning slightly. “We just wanna be hospitable and make sure you can enjoy yourselves with the rest of us. It’s not required, or nothin’.”

Another pause.

“We unders-s-stand,” Birnuk offers softly. “We do not mind.”

“We will try intoxication,” T’Parna says, smiling slightly. “It sounds like fun.”

Hobie grins.

“It is,” he says. “And you’ll get to meet everybody’s boyfriends and girlfriends. That’s always a good time— gives us something to gossip about, later.”

T’Ruao’s lip quirks, leaning into Ruron’s shoulder absently.

“The first is this Friday, I believe,” she says.

Hobie nods.

“Friday”

*.*

“What’s the lady’s name again?”

“Lady T’Pau,” Leonard says without looking up from his scrubbing. “She’s Spock and Sybok’s great-grandmother, and one of the most politically powerful people in Vulcan society.”

Willie nods thoughtfully.

“Sounds like an impressive lady,” Willie says. “And she’s bringing you some more kids to adopt?”

Leonard sighs.

“Essentially,” he says. “She’s also going to help with some Vulcan things that need to be worked out.”

“Vulcan things?”

Leonard sighs.

“There are a… a handful of biological imperatives that are handled early on by Vulcan parents,” he says. “What happened with Lucian and Kiddo doesn’t usually happen so naturally.”

Willie makes a noise of understanding.

“She’s coming to speed up the process, is she?”

Leonard nods.

“She’s going to match them all up, along with the new ones that are of age,” he says. “Apparently that’s a job normally handled by the matriarchs of a family.”

“Matriarch?” Willie says, arching an eyebrow. “So what’s it mean, that she’s doing this for you?”

“Whattaya mean?”

“Well,” his grandfather says slowly. “You gave your kids names, and you ended up adopting ‘em. Seems to me Vulcans put a lot of stock in family, and the things family’s supposed to do for each other.”

Leonard goes very still.

“Am I…” He trails off, looking over at his grandfather. “Is she adopting me into her family?”

Willie shrugs.

“How am I supposed to know?” he says. “I’m no expert. All I’m saying is that it probably means something, her doing this for you.”

Leonard runs a hand through his too-long hair.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “I never asked for this shit.”

“God gives as he’s meant,” Willie says. “Suck it up, buttercup.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Lady T’Pau,” Leonard greets, giving her a nervous smile. “T’Pring.”

“Bonz McCoy,” T’Pau says as T’Pring nods her greeting. “Thine family home is most interesting to see.”

Leonard’s brow furrows uncertainly.

“Uh, yeah, I suppose it’s a little different from what you’re used to,” he admits, glancing back at the smattering of houses and decidedly illogical paths. “We’re staying in the Big House, for now– it’s the only place with enough room for us all.”

T’Pau gives him a regal nod.

“We have brought thee more charges,” she says, gesturing to the shuttle where a handful of Vulcans of varying ages are clustered together. “They will not answer to their family names, so I believe it is best if thou were to name them before we move forward.”

Leonard blinks, suddenly uncertain.

“Um, okay,” he says awkwardly. “Let me just… would you mind very much, Lady T’Pau, if my grandfather takes you to the house? Spock’s waiting for you there.” He’d refused to join Leonard for the meet and greet, for some weird reason.

She arches an eyebrow.

“Grandfather?” she asks. “Thine family head, he is?”

“Something like that,” Leonard agrees. “Pop?”

Grandpa Willie looks up from his quiet conversation with T’Ruao— who had insisted on joining Leonard for this particular meeting— and smiles, sauntering up in that quiet way of his to stand beside Leonard.

“Lady T’Pau, this is my grandfather, William Baron McCoy,” Leonard says. “Pop, this is Lady T’Pau, of Vulcan, and Mister T’Pring, apprentice to Sybok.”

Willie raises his hand in greeting.

“Begging your pardon, ladies, but I can’t perform the ta’al,” he admits easily. “These hands are too crooked to bend like they used to.”

T’Pau tilts her head curiously.

“There is no need for forgiveness,” T’Pau says carefully. “I find no fault in thine greeting.”

Grandpa Willie’s smile widens slightly.

“Well, Lady T’Pau,” he says. “I’ll admit to being a little nervous. I ain’t never met a lady, before. Leo said you belong to a High Council, of some kind?”

“It is fascinating,” she says. “How Humans have managed to perfect the art of creating a statement that is both a question and a fact.”

“Fascinating?” Willie chuckles. “Well, Lady T’Pau, I’ve been finding plenty of things fascinating in the world of Vulcans. Care to share a few tales? Perhaps we can explain a thing or two to each other.”

He’s wearing long sleeves, which is unusual for this weather, but Leonard hadn’t thought too hard about it when Willie had followed him up the hill to the landing site. Now, though, he sees why, when his grandfather offers his arm to Lady T’Pau, of the Vulcan High Council.

To a Southerner, that’s basic, gentlemanly manners. To a Vulcan, that’s basically an offer for a quickie behind the barn.

T’Pau stares a moment, debating, then takes the proffered arm, delicately folding the sleeve of her robe to ensure no skin-to-skin contact.

Oh, _ God. _

T’Pring, at least, looks just as freaked out as Leonard feels when he chances a look at her as Willie leads T’Pau towards the main cluster of houses, eyes wide and mouth pinched a touch more than usual. Leonard waits until they’re out of earshot, running his fingers through his hair nervously.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he says, more to himself than to T’Pring. “Right?”

“It is appropriate to bow to Human customs when in a Human environment,” T’Pring says, a little dazed. “It means nothing.”

“Good.” Leonard straightens his t-shirt— Dot hid all of his button downs, citing  _ it’s your fucking house, you can wear what you want, Leo— _ and steps towards the shuttle. “Let’s go meet the new guys, then.”

The Vulcan age of majority is between twenty-one and twenty-two, in Terran years, mostly dependent on their own calendar. Old calendar. Leonard doesn’t want to think about that.

The oldest of the group is nineteen, and he looks it, too, tall and imposingly stony-faced, but still with visible traces of baby fat in his cheeks. The next one is fifteen, another boy, just as stony-faced but a little nervous, too, based on the way his eyes keep darting over to T’Ruao, who’s stayed just a step behind Leonard for most of this interaction.

Sybok’s message told him the next three age groups come in pairs. A pair of twelve year olds, one boy, one girl, unbonded. A nine year old bonded pair— the girl had been taken in by her bondmate’s family when it became clear he was all she had left, until his mother had decided it was in her best interests to give them both up for her own health— and finally, two seven year old girls, identical twins, a rare occurrence within the species.

Leonard forces himself to relax, holding up a hand in a ta’al.

_ “Greetings,” _ he says, using Vulcan if only to make it easier.  _ “I am Healer Leonard Horatio McCoy, called Bonz by my charges. T’Pau has brought you to me because she believes I am your best chance for continued health and recovery. This is T’Ruao, one of my children.” _

There’s a shift when they hear her name.

_ “T’Ruao has kept the name her family gave her,” _ Leonard continues.  _ “And if you so choose, you may as well. I will ensure you are cared for, regardless.” _

He pauses, looking over each of their faces carefully. None of them, not even the youngest, are so careless as his children, but he’s learned a thing or two about Vulcan facial expressions over the last two months, and he can see the contempt and unhappiness that flashes across each of their faces.

_ “You do not have to,” _ he adds.  _ “Many of my children have been given new names. It is simply a matter of Human custom, one that can be followed, if you so desire it.” _

_ “Human children keep their names, when a family chooses to take them,” _ T’Ruao adds softly from behind him.  _ “So it is not so strange.” _

_ “I would like to be named _ ,” pipes up one of the twins, looking desperate.

_ “As would I,” _ her sister adds.

_ “I would prefer it, as well,” _ the fifteen year old says quietly.  _ “As would my elder.” _

The nineteen year old’s lip curls when Leonard meets his eyes, but he doesn’t deny it.

_ “And you?” _ he asks, looking at the bonded pair and the twelve year olds.

_ “We would prefer to keep to our custom,” _ the boy from the bonded pair says.

_ “It seems efficient,” _ the twelve year old girl agrees. The twelve year old boy only nods.

Leonard glances at T’Pring, who watches them all impassively. He claps his hands together.

“Well, then,” he says in Standard. “Let’s get started.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I didn't answer comments this time around. I'm literally posting between moments just so I can post. Anyway, enjoy!

T’Pau watches curiously as a handful of children in Doctor McCoy’s care converge onto the new ones, the leaders of each small social circle coming forward to greet their new siblings. It is strange, the way Doctor McCoy chooses to name his charges. It makes her think that perhaps he wasn’t responsible for the choice ‘Joanna’.

Munich, the oldest of the group she brought with her, stands apart, arms stiff at his sides as he watches uncertainly as the younger children envelop their new peers, chattering easily about Bonz and his family and their kindness. Dallas, the second oldest, has been taken by T’Ruao and her bondmate to be introduced to the other older children, along with the Human Hobart that seems so attached to them all. He looks overwhelmed, but T’Pau can see the caution exercised by the other Vulcan teens as they speak to him.

Arlington and Grimsby are conversing with Saavik with the help of Blue, nearly the same age as Saavik and uncomfortable at the thought of attempting to befriend children even younger than they are. It is an illogical habit, one T’Pau has seen in the young of nearly all species, and quite interesting to witness now. She doesn’t have much to do with children, not since Sarek’s children were small, and she’s always known Sybok and Spock would never be fathers. It’s simply not in their nature.

Except that’s not quite true, she now realizes, watching as Saavik smiles— most improper, but somehow fitting— and leads her new siblings towards Spock, introducing them to T’Pau’s grandson with careful hand movements that are dutifully copied. Spock seems more than willing to speak with them, signing along as he speaks about whatever it is that has caught the children’s interest. He’s so focused, in fact, that he doesn’t know that his romantic partner has left him to it, and that only his captain remains, hand absently thrown over the back of Spock’s chair.

Oh, my. T’Pau wonders if Spock has noticed. Leonard most certainly has, if the way he’s pointedly ignoring that section of the porch is anything to go by.

Out of the entire group, it’s the bonded pair that will adjust the most quickly, if only because they have each other. The marital bond— even one as young as theirs— is one of the most stable bonds that can be forged, stronger even than the bonds of family, when put to the test. Already, it is obvious in the way Raleigh allows London to press into him, half-shy and half-possessive in the face of nearly fifty unbonded Vulcans. London will feel that possessiveness for the rest of her life, in some way or another, and T’Pau is curious to see how it will manifest in the face of Doctor McCoy’s unusual child-rearing techniques.

Another thing Sybok will likely be interested in studying.

The youngest two, the twin girls, will also likely settle easily among the children, having shared similar experiences due to their age and social status. Already, Sugar— the girl that T’Pau has observed to be the leader of the younger female group— has taken them under her wing, introducing Paris and Savannah to each girl carefully before moving onto the boys, starting with Bear, the de facto leader of the boys, and working outward.

It is interesting, to watch this microcosm of Vulcan society interact with Human culture. The interactions have taken on a flavor of strangeness, not clearly Vulcan or Human in manner or etiquette and yet somehow suited to the situation now unfolding on the front lawn of the McCoy Big House. T’Pau would very much like to see how this evolves— perhaps Doctor McCoy won’t mind if she sticks around for a little while.

*.*

“And so went the next batch,” Flores says, settling onto the stool beside Sybok. “Are you surprised by Lady T’Pau’s willingness to accept Doctor McCoy’s strange, _ emotional _ ways?”

Sybok swallows, eyeing Flores uncomfortably.

“If you’re not Human, why do you look like one?” he asks, tilting his head to one side.

Flores shrugs, easy smile on his lips.

“Convenience,” he says. “I don’t have a tangible form the way Federation species do. Why? Would you prefer a female?” There’s a flash of light, and a curvy young woman with hair the color of coal flowing down her back smiles up at him. “Vulcan, maybe?” There’s another flash, and Flores is male once more, with pointed ears and a green flush to his cheeks.

Sybok flinches.

“Turn back!” he hisses. “Someone will see!”

“No they won’t,” Flores says, returning to the form Sybok knows him best as. “But alright. The point is, I’m not a boring, three-dimensional being. I’m…” Flores shrugs. “I’m a lot more.”

“A god.”

“No. Just another species in this great big universe. A mite more powerful than you mortals, granted, but still. Just another species.” Flores smiles. “Have you heard anything from God, by the way?”

Sybok swallows and shakes his head minutely.

“Good,” he says, nodding. “I had a look and… well, he was simply driving you mad, Sybok— that’s not a nice thing to do to a mortal, you know. We do have rules about that sort of thing.”

“We meaning… the Q?” Sybok ignores the rest of the statement, for now. He doesn’t want to think about it too hard, what it means when Flores said he _ had a look. _

“The Q Continuum, yes,” Flores says agreeably. “You’re quite smart, you know.”

“I am a Vulcan.”

“And there you go acting like one again,” Flores says, frowning slightly. “I’ve made you nervous, sorry.”

_ Vulcans do not feel nervousness, _ is perhaps what Spock would say, but Sybok is not Spock, and his sensibilities are well-known.

“You are not…” Sybok shifts, fiddling with the collar of his robe. “Not what I expected.”

Sybok had expected a Human, a handsome, helpful, somewhat illogical Human who would appreciate a few nights’ relieved tension. What he has is Flores, and he doesn’t know the first thing about Flores’ kind, though he gets the feeling that a people as evolved as the Q must be probably aren’t subject to silly feelings like lust.

Flores snorts, like maybe he heard that particular train of thought.

“I imagine it’s hard, being faced with someone like me when you’re so limited,” Flores says. “But I assure you, I’m only here as an observer, not to shape your universe into my own partiality.”

“Why?” Sybok asks frankly. “What is so interesting?”

“Why? Sybok, can’t you see it? You’re living in one of the most pivotal times of your universe’s history— I’m here to witness the beginning of a future unlike any other I or any of the other Q have ever seen.” Flores flutters his eyelashes at Sybok, making the Vulcan’s heart tighten oddly. “Plus, you know, this is the only universe where I could reasonably talk to you— it seems the destruction of Vulcan stayed the hand of madness long enough for me to find the source of the little voice in your head, which is good, because I’ve always found you a rather handsome fellow, for a mortal.”

“You think I am handsome?”

And yeah, that’s probably not what Sybok should be focusing on, considering that Flores just copped to being able to travel between universes, knowing the future, and actively changing the course of Sybok’s life (for the better, probably, considering, you know _ , insanity), _ but… Sybok’s been spending a lot of time among Humans, and Humans are silly and illogical and focus on the wrong things sometimes, just because that’s what they want to hear.

Considering he hasn’t had a bondmate (or even an interested party) since he last required one, and hasn’t had even a real kiss (Vulcan or otherwise) besides Doctor McCoy (which was a fluke), Sybok very much wants to be told he’s pretty by somebody he finds attractive.

Even if that somebody happens to be an apparent god and more than a little frightening, in retrospect.

“Of course I think you’re handsome, Sybok,” Flores says, smiling. “I’ve got eyes, and they see even more than the normal Human’s, you know. Have I ever mentioned what an excellent respiratory system you have?”

Sybok can’t help it; he laughs.

“No, you have not,” he says, scrubbing at his beard uncertainly. He— he hasn’t done this in a while, the flirting thing, and he’s rusty. Also a little out of his depth because, well. Q.

“Well, it truly is splendid, I bet you’ve got another two hundred years in you, minimum— provided you keep taking care of yourself, of course,” Flores says seriously. “Which you will, because you’re a hippie piece of shit.”

Sybok knows what a hippie is, because Doctor McCoy’s cousin Steven is apparently the nearest approximation to one that’s existed since the twentieth century, which is… fascinating. Anachronistic. Odd.

“Taking care of yourself and enjoying nature doesn’t make me a hippie,” Sybok says. “Steven played me a few of the band popular at the peak of hippie culture, and they’re all _ terrible.” _

Flores’ mouth twitches and he leans closer.

“Really, now?” he says. “Did they play you anything else, while you were visiting?”

“All sorts of stuff,” Sybok admits. “The McCoys are quite focused on the music created in the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries— everything written between the invention of the radio up until the end of the Eugenics Wars. In fact, some of the McCoys have made a point of embracing certain cultural phenomenons that haven’t been relevant since before first contact.”

“The McCoys can be considered something of a living historical database,” Flores tells him. “They are an isolated, close-knit family who revel in their own Humanity. Even Doctor McCoy, who has spent most of his adult life traveling outside the Estate, has certain antiquated mannerisms and personal principles. It is… quite something.”

Sybok had in fact noticed the fact that Doctor McCoy was a little odder than most Humans he’d met, but then, so was Captain Kirk, and Lieutenant Sulu, and Lieutenant Commander Scott. Sybok had just assumed oddities were overlooked in Starfleet’s best and brightest, but if Flores is making a point of it…

“What is it you think Doctor McCoy is going to do, exactly?” He finds himself asking. “Since you seem to believe that he’s the cause of whatever anomaly is about to occur in this universe?”

“Cause? No, no, not cause,” Flores says. “He’s just another ripple after the stone called Nero ripped a hole between universes. But his ripple is an important one, now, the first step to the truest form the Federation could ever take.” Flores pauses, suddenly seeming unsure of himself.

“What?” Sybok asks.

“I could— I suppose I could explain further,” Flores says after a moment, running a hand through his dark hair almost awkwardly. “If we were to, say, find somewhere more… private?”

Sybok blinks.

“Are you asking to go home with me?” he asks after a moment, and Flores— Flores goes pink, of all things.

“Well, it’s the thing to do, isn’t it?” he mumbles, not meeting Sybok’s eyes. “When mortals like each other, they go to each other’s houses.”

Sybok arches an eyebrow.

“Do you actually know what we do, once we get where we’re going?” he asks.

“Of course!” Flores says quickly. “I’m not an idiot, just…my knowledge is mainly theoretical, I admit. This is the first time I’ve taken a mortal form… well, ever, really.”

“And you took it so, what, you could flirt with me?”

“Well, not  _ only.” _ Flores offers Sybok a small smile. “You’re a very interesting character, Sybok.”

Sybok feels his ears go hot. The tips are probably flushed green— that’s what Lady Amanda said happened whenever he felt this way.

“Well, you know I like you,” Sybok says. “Because you’re telepathic as well, I think?”

“Something similar, yes.”

“And you like me—“

“I do.”

“So I don’t really see anything wrong with bringing you home,” Sybok says, smiling slightly. “I suppose we can put your theory to practice, don’t you think, Flores?”

Flores smiles at him, and its sunshine.

“Please, Sybok,” he says, reaching out to brush his fingers against the back of the Vulcan’s hand. “Call me Quito.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back? Slim Shady, obviously.
> 
> Of you regular commentors, how many of you freaked when I answered your comment? That's one hell of an early warning system, am I right?
> 
> Anyway, I'm here, and I'm posting a new chapter, and it's gonna be good (hopefully). I wanted to get back to the core of this whole series, which is Bones dealing with emotional Vulcan babies, so that's basically this entire chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

Toryk has been sitting apart from his bondmate during meals over the last few days, face perfectly blank and shoulders a touch too stiff to be natural as he eats. He doesn’t talk to the other teenagers, he _ definitely  _ doesn’t talk to T’Lanar, and Leonard has decided that it’s time to find out why.

 

“Toryk!” he calls, knocking on the room the boy shares with his bondmate. “You busy?”

 

“I am not.” There’s a pause, and then the door opens, revealing Toryk, already dressed in his pajamas and… alone.

 

“Where’s T’Lanar?”

 

“She has decided it would be prudent to spend a few evenings with Ruron and T’Ruao,” he says. He sounds a little bitter about it.

 

Leonard arches an eyebrow.

 

“And why’s that?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe.

 

Toryk looks down.

 

“It is none of your concern,” he says, jaw clenched.

 

Leonard sighs. Toryk likes to be difficult.

 

“Well, sure it is, Toryk,” he says. “Here I have two of my kids— a bonded pair— fighting, and I don’t know why. I’d like to know why, so I can maybe help stop the fighting and return my home to its normal, peaceful state.”

 

There’s a pause.

 

“I do not wish to stay with you,” Toryk says, not meeting his eyes. “I want to remain Vulcan, and if you remain my guardian, I will lose my place in my society.”

 

Leonard isn’t particularly surprised to hear it— these are things he’s talked about with Sybok, and with Spock, and even with T’Pau, now that she’s hear and apparently more than willing to teach him a thing or two about Vulcan culture. He actually has a _ meeting  _ with her the day after tomorrow, to discuss the practicalities of Vulcan marital bonds and how they’re handled, along with the ceremonies required to make it legitimate in the eyes of the High Council— not that it’s necessary, of course. T’Pau has made it quite clear that she is willing to change whatever he thinks can be changed to better handle the children and their unusual circumstances.

 

Still, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, just a little bit.

 

He stomps down on that feeling and instead just nods, crossing his arms.

 

“That’s alright,” he says. “And you’re welcome to do whatever it is you believe you need to do, Toryk. I know it’ll be difficult to find a family for you, but I’m sure T’Pau can help us find somebody suitable… or, you know, if you want to strike it out on your own, that’s okay, too.”

 

Toryk looks at him and something in his eyes shatters, like maybe he wasn’t expecting Leonard’s support.

 

“T’Lanar will not leave with me,” he says quietly. “She would stay here, with you. She is offended that I wish to leave.”

 

Oh. Oh, no. Leonard doesn’t want to mediate a relationship between teenagers.

 

“Well,” he says slowly, thinking fast. “T’Lanar’s her own person, and she gets to make her own decisions. She doesn’t have to leave if she doesn’t want to— her wishes don’t negate your bond anymore than yours does.”

 

“We are supposed to make our decisions together, Bonz,” Toryk says, and as flat as his tone might be, it doesn’t erase the hurt that’s so obvious to Leonard, even if he can’t put his finger on why. “Our minds are one until death, and yet… we find ourselves separate.” There’s a pause, and then, in a much smaller voice, Toryk admits, “She has refused any mental communication since our altercation.”

 

Leonard sighs and steps into the room, closing the door behind him. While technically the bonded pairs each share a room, they have separate beds, because Leonard really, _ really  _ doesn’t want to deal with grandbabies just yet. Granted, it’s not really going to do anything if the kids really get it into their heads to… God, he can’t even think it. But it eases Leonard’s mind, just a little bit.

 

“Humans,” he starts, moving to sit on Toryk’s bed. “Are full of conflicting thoughts, ideas, and emotions all the time. What we usually have to do is weigh the pros and cons of whatever it is that’s causing our inner conflict, and we apply a sort of logic to it, one based on our personal beliefs.”

 

“That is not logic.”

 

“It’s internal logic, and it’s a thing,” Leonard says. “For instance, Grandpa Willie’s wife— my grandmother— left him and all their kids. Why? Because she wanted her career, and eight kids and a musician for a husband were things that didn’t exactly mesh with interstellar politics. She didn’t want to leave behind her family, but for her, family wasn’t the road to personal happiness, and yeah, she loved my dad and his brothers, but she didn’t think it would make her as happy as a career bringing peace through language. So she left, and had a good life traveling the galaxy until her death some ten years ago. For her, the emotions she felt for her family weren’t as strong as the emotions she felt for her career. That was her personal logic. Am I making sense?”

 

“Not really.”

 

Leonard sighs.

 

“Listen,” he says. “Sometimes, shit doesn’t work out the way you want it to. You and T’Lanar need to have a conversation, one where you both can hash out exactly what it is you want from life and from your bond. Once that’s made clear, you take whatever steps you need to make sure both of you get at least part of what you want. Compromise.”

 

Toryk is quiet for a long moment. Then, he takes a seat beside Leonard.

 

“What if no compromise can be reached?” he asks softly, and God, he’s so scared, so certain of the possibility. “What if— T’Lanar is so different, now. She is not as she was, she is… she is happy. Her mind is nothing like it was. It is like I am bonded to someone else, someone who has no interest in completing Kolinahr and becoming one of the greatest Vulcan scholars who ever lived. What if the only option for us is to… annul our marriage?”

 

Leonard winces and wraps an arm around Toryk’s shoulders.

 

“If you were Human,” he says. “I would say it’s normal for this sort of thing to happen. Humans don’t bond like Vulcans do, we don’t have telepathy. We find our perfect matches through trial and error, if we ever find them at all.

 

“That being said, I’m sure T’Lanar was right for you before, and that your were right for her. But trauma changes people, Toryk, and nobody’s ever quite what they were before, no matter how much time passes. I would tell you not to worry, but… well, you’re a smart kid. If you think it’s a possibility, then it very well may be.”

 

“It is amusing,” Toryk says, throat tight. “But on Vulcan, I was considered the improper one, out of the pair of us. I was too loose, in comparison to her. I believe you would refer to her as an ‘ice queen’.”

 

“Well, out of the lot of you, you’re probably the most proper of them all,” Leonard says. “Which might just be your coping mechanism, but whatever. For T’Lanar, it’s different. Your minds may have been linked, but that doesn’t erase the fact that you’re two different people, with two separate identities.”

 

Toryk leans into his shoulder.

 

“I just want things to be as they were,” he says, turning his face into the thin fabric of Leonard’s shirt. “It is— it is all too much.”

 

This isn’t unusual, not anymore. Leonard deals with bewildered tantrums and meltdowns and quiet, mournful tears every day, one way or another. But Toryk is different from the others, and perhaps Leonard had begun to think he wouldn’t break.

 

Well, it seems he was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question: 
> 
> So, I've got about four and a half chapters written up thanks to a sudden binge when I got back from work today, so I want to take a quick poll. Would you guys rather I post everything over the course of four/five days, or should I stretch it out over the course of this month? I'm up for either, but I also warn that I'm not sure how long this sudden well of motivation has before it dries up again, so it could be risky. Make your choice and comment it, please and thank you.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, anyway, I'm an asshole and didn't post jack, so I'm just gonna put this here now and beg forgiveness, as well as put up another chapter. Next post will be on Tuesday (feel free to bother me about it on my tumblr, so I don't forget), and then Thursday after that, which I feel is a nice middle ground for 'mass chapter dump' and 'once a week'. Assume Tuesday/Thursday posting until I run out of steam.

 

“Okay, so, how does this work, exactly?”

 

T’Pau sips her tea carefully as she thinks over her answer. She’s dressed simply, today, in a light blue robe with white embroideries along the hems.

 

“In a typical situation, there would be a vetting process where I and the other house matriarchs would meet and discuss possible matches between our clans,” T’Pau says. “However, this is not a typical situation, and I believe there would be many possible matches within the group itself. Thy children also have the benefit of an intimate understanding of one another’s minds, which makes it somewhat simpler in deciding who will be the correct match for each child.”

 

“So… you’re just going to look for the best matches within the group?”

 

“To a degree,” T’Pau says. “Sometimes the best match is not always the appropriate one, due to social requirements.”

 

“Meaning…?”

 

“Typically, parents wish for at least one of their sons to carry on the family name,” she says. “And the best match for their son may not be a person capable of reproducing with them for whatever reason. There is also a preference to have Vulcan partners.”

 

Leonard blinks.

 

“Oh, well, I don’t care about any of that,” he says.

 

“I thought thou might not,” T’Pau says. “However, things are unbalanced in our community, and the Council may not look too kindly upon relationships that do not hold the possibility of full-blooded Vulcan children.”

 

“I don’t much care about them, either,” Leonard says, arching an eyebrow. “I’m already feeling a little weird about organizing betrothals for a bunch of seven year olds. I’m not going to have them anything less than happy with who they’re put with.”

 

“Happiness is illogical.”

 

“Happiness saves a lot of relationships,” he points out. “Didn’t Ambassador Sarek’s first wife have their marriage annulled? And isn’t Spock technically betrothed to T’Pring?” That little tidbit he’d gotten from Sybok, the night before he’d returned to San Francisco.

 

T’Pau dips her chin.

 

“It is an imperfect system,” she says. “And intrinsically different, thy children are. There is something to be said for the way thou hast taken to rearing them, and I do not believe they would take kindly to being matched with anyone but the most perfect.” She pauses. “I will ask them their opinions on the subject, before any decisions are made. I ask for thine permission to meld with them as needed.”

 

“Granted,” Leonard says. “So long as they agree, of course.”

 

“Of course.” T’Pau folds her hands. “Should they believe their best matches are among thine blood kin, I will, of course, need to meld with their suitors, as well.”

 

“Then you’ll need permission from their parents,” he says. “I can’t speak for my cousins’ children, or my siblings’.”

 

“Very well,” T’Pau says. “We should begin immediately.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


T’Pring is in the ballroom because she has nowhere else to be and she’s curious, she really is. Why? Because Honora McCoy, younger sister to Lucian, and Marmaduke McCoy, the half-Orion son of Dot, have decided to teach a handful of their Vulcan cousins to dance in the style of Humans.

 

“If you’re getting married, you’ve gotta be able to waltz, at least,” is Honora’s explanation to the impromptu lessons. She is nine years old and takes herself very seriously. “Everybody waltzes at weddings.”

 

“Vulcans don’t dance,” is Sugar’s response to all this, which is a bit amusing, T’Pring’s willing to admit in the safety of her own mind.

 

“McCoys do,” Duke answers promptly. “And you’re all McCoys, now.”

 

Of the Vulcan children, Sugar, Bear, Buddy, and Amber are all assembled, looking very un-Vulcan in jeans, colorful t-shirts, and bare feet. After a moment to think about Duke’s statement, they all nod, because while Human child-logic is less than perfect, McCoy logic is a beast all its own, one that T’Pring is still learning.

 

Buddy raises his hand.

 

“But I’m not getting married,” he points out helpfully. “I’m three.”

 

“Doesn’t hurt to learn, though, does it?” Honora says. “For when you get married. Here— c’mere.”

 

She holds out her hands, and Buddy doesn’t hesitate to take them. He looks delicate beside her, twiggy and waifish against her tall, chubby form.

 

“Okay, so, if you’re dancing the lead part, you put one hand here,” Honora moves Buddy’s hand to her lower back. “And you hold the other hand out like this.” She demonstrates. “When you’re dancing the other part, you put the hand that’s not sticking out on your partner’s shoulder, like this— then, you sort of walk around.”

 

She starts to move, then, pulling Buddy into a small series of steps that have Buddy tripping over his own feet for a moment before finding the rhythm.

 

“That’s called a box step,” Marmaduke says. “And you do it in time to the beats of the music. Normally you use it for slow songs.” He takes a step in Honora and Buddy’s direction.  “If you want to dance with someone who’s already dancing with someone else, you can go up to them and ask ‘may I cut in’. May I cut in?” He asks, looking to Honora and Buddy, and Honora steps back, allowing Duke to step in and scoop Buddy up into a more lively version of the odd rocking motion she and Buddy had been practicing before turning and pulling Sugar into their own dance.

 

T’Pring watches it all from her seat at the edge of the ballroom, near the side entrance, head tilted curiously as she takes note of every little undercurrent of every interaction she can see. After all, Doctor McCoy is in a meeting with T’Pau deciding the fate of each and every one of these children, based on information like this. Perhaps she could offer her own observations, aid them in what is sure to be a long and grueling task.

 

It would be logical to place Bear with Sugar— they are both the clear leaders of the younger children, though he does seem to hold some kind of regard for Amber, if his willingness to dance with her unprompted means anything… which it probably doesn’t. McCoy Vulcans do what they like, and their socialization in recent months has thrown the concepts of personal space and telepathic courtesy out the window in favor of comfort, practicality, and the dissemination of information among peers.

 

If nothing else, it truly is fascinating, the sort of connection they all keep with one another, a web of bonds that aren’t quite familial but aren’t quite anything else, all leading back to their Bonz himself. And, oddly enough, on top of all that, he doesn’t seem to be consciously aware of it— or, not all the time. There are moments, on occasion, where Leonard will say something regarding his children, pause in confusion, then sigh and continue as he was. So, clearly someone has at least informed him of the bonds, even if no one’s bothered to teach him how to control it, yet. Can a Human learn to use such bonds effectively? T’Pring ought to ask Sybok. He’d paid quite a bit of attention to his stepmother when it became clear Lady Amanda’s bonds were developing beyond what the healers had expected.

 

A wide, gentle hand lands lightly on the back of T’Pring’s chair, knuckles just brushing against the back of her neck in a way that shoots sparks down T’Pring’s spine. She tilts her head just enough to look up at her companion.

 

“Doctor McCoy,” she greets. “How go the proceedings?”

 

He shrugs.

 

“Alright,” he says. “Thirty-seven kids to pair up, after all. I suppose it could be worse.”

 

“Saying ‘worse’ implies that things could go more smoothly.”

 

Leonard sighs and tugs a chair out from under the table, taking a seat beside her.

 

“Saavik refuses to bond,” he says after a moment. “Which T’Pau assures me is her right, since girls aren’t nearly so endangered by their own biology as boys are, but still, it’s worrying, considering everyone else has at least someone in mind. Munich’s another who refuses a bond, which is more worrying, because if he’s not bonded in… two years? There’s a good chance he’s going to die a painful and embarrassing death.”

 

T’Pring nods her head thoughtfully, tracking the doctor’s movements as he rolls his shoulders and stretches thick arms over his head. His hair’s gotten long over a surprisingly short span of time. It’s only been a month, and yet there are brown locks of feathery brown hair brushing the lobes of his ears and curling at the nape of his neck. How unusual.

 

“How many interspecies-matches have there been?” she asks.

 

“Twelve, out of the thirty already interviewed,” Leonard admits. “It’s not so bad, since I warned everybody beforehand, but it’s… it’s getting weird.”

 

“Elaborate.”

 

“... It’s an issue of Human custom,” he says after a moment. “It doesn’t really matter, in the end— I mean, it’s not the end of the world, or anything.”

 

T’Pring fixes Leonard with a steady, patient stare, and he sighs.

 

“There’s a thing,” he says, “about fathers and daughters. It’s a relic of an older time that’s… it’s stuck pretty strongly in the McCoy Family, both here and in other lines.”

 

She keeps staring.

 

“Fathers are overprotective of their daughters,” Leonard says finally, running a hand over his face. “More so than their sons, because sons can take care of themselves, but daughters are… special.”

 

“That is incorrect.”

 

“I am aware.” Leonard sighs. “In me, though, it’s been sort of heightened recently, because of…” he trails off, the takes a breath and soldiers on, brow furrowed. “I’ve just been thinking how I’ll never see Jo marry, and it’s fucking with me even more than usual.”

 

Oh, because the children are being prepared for marriage— or the first step of something somewhat similar. The bonds that will be made now will be weak, easily broken and replaced without trouble. Much like many Human marriages. Ah. T’Pring sees the similarities now.

 

“June’s bonded with my cousin’s son Greg,” Leonard continues, apparently not as easily distracted as T’Pring appears to be. “Which is fine, Greg’s a good guy— except he’s sixteen years old, and she’s not even eight.”

 

“Bonded,” T’Pring says quietly. “In the past tense?”

 

Leonard gives her a wry smile.

 

“From the looks of it, there’s been a lot of that going around behind our backs,” he says. “Not just Lucian and Kiddo.”

 

T’Pring hums.

 

“It is their ages that troubles you,” she says, pressing her fingertips together. “It is the root of all your unhappiness regarding the subject of bonding.”

 

Leonard makes a face.

 

“I understand it’s necessary,” he says. “But it’s weird, growing up around talk of love and romance just to be arranging child marriages.”

 

“These early bonds are easily annulled, if it is decided the couple is not well-suited,” T’Pring says. “However, there is nothing to be done regarding June and your first cousin once removed. Bonds like that go beyond simple mind arts.”

 

Leonard lets out another, tired sigh.

 

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” he says, and he pushes himself to his feet.

 

“Very nice,” he calls out to the children, smiling as their dance lesson devolved into a game of wiggling hips and jumping. “Honora, Duke, you’re both very good teachers, but I’m sorry to say I’m going to need to borrow my kids for a bit.”

 

“Sure thing, Uncle Leo!” Duke looks over to Amber, with whom he’d been dancing. “Guess that’s your cue.”

 

Amber doesn’t let go of his hand right away, even after Bear and Sugar start picking their way between the tables back towards Leonard and— oh, that would make thirteen, if T’Pring’s seeing what she thinks she’s seeing. Glancing up at Doctor McCoy, she catches his tired, resigned expression and wonders how many times he’s accidentally caught one of his children spontaneously bonding with a Human— or at least non-Vulcan— family member. Probably enough times to recognize things like that need privacy.

 

“I need to talk to Dot,” he mutters, and T’Pring feels the strangest urge to snort, which she naturally ignores.

 

Out of all the McCoys of Leonard’s generation, Dot will be the most excited to hear her child has found his soulmate.

 

T’Pring feels like she wants to be around when Leonard breaks the news.


	17. Chapter 17

“Do you wish to annul our bond, T’Lanar?”

 

T’Lanar freezes in her tracks. She— she’d been making her way to the library, more to make a point than anything else of passing the small home theater where she knows Toryk has been spending increasing amounts of time on his own— an avoidance tactic that has thus far proven to be quite effective. Save for mealtimes and other scheduled daily rituals, she’s seen her bondmate perhaps three times since their disagreement over breakfast nearly four days ago, and in that time, he hasn’t said a word to her.

 

The lack of… well, _ anything  _ from her bondmate regarding their argument has started to make her… anxious. She thinks she might have been a little harsh when she rebuffed his initial, cautious mental touches, closing herself from him completely for the three days following— or rather, Bonz thought she’d been harsh, when he’d discovered the reason behind their friction, and his unhappiness at the situation had prompted her to reexamine her actions.

 

She does not regret what she said.  But she does perhaps regret the manner in which she said it.

 

Her plan had been simple, really— to draw his attention, to force him to speak to her and give her a chance to explain herself, as well as give Toryk the chance to explain himself. She’d been taking this walk several times a day, for the last three days, making certain to drift close enough to the open door so that he might feel her projection of perfect Vulcan calm. She’d thought, perhaps, that it might be quicker to reach him through their bond, but T’Lanar has her pride, and she— well, she shut him out first. She loathes to think what she might do if she reaches out to find he won’t answer.

 

Toryk hasn’t looked at her, hasn’t turned away from the holoscreen. It’s playing something French, about a strange girl with a bob and an album full of photobooth pictures.

 

“I—” T’Lanar starts uncertainly, then stopped. She— she wasn’t expecting that. She’d never—

 

“Because if you do, it would be wise to bring the subject to Lady T’Pau before she is distracted by the Little Fish,” he continues. He’s still not looking at her, still focused on the screen. He’s got popcorn, she realizes a little distantly. He’s eating it with chopsticks.

 

“I— is this in regards to our argument?”

 

Toryk doesn’t twitch, just pops another piece of popcorn in his mouth.

 

“I have given our situation some thought,” he says after a moment. “And after a conversation with our guardian, I believe it may be in our mutual interests to do so.”

 

_ “... Bonz  _ suggested the idea?” She can’t imagine he ever would.

 

“I mentioned to him that I believed you might be contemplating the idea,” Toryk says, and for God’s sake, he’s _ still  _ not looking at her. “And he brought up several interesting points, I believe in an effort to comfort me.”

 

Comfort him? Was he truly that— what is she saying, of course he was. Just look at his behavior, these past few days.

 

T’Lanar shuts the door behind her.

 

“Elaborate,” she demands.

 

Toryk doesn’t move.

 

“He simply reminded me that trauma shows itself in many ways, and that the changes I have recognized in you— and the changes you likely see in me— may be permanent, making us incompatible as bondmates.” He pops another piece of popcorn in his mouth. “My wish to remain close to my roots runs against your wish to assimilate into Terran culture— something I do not fault you for. I find certain aspects of it both comforting and logical, in their own ways, and I take no issue with your finding a place in it. I, however, cannot embrace it as you have… I never had the social skill you always took pride in.”

 

T’Lanar’s eyes feel hot. Her lip trembles, just slightly, so she pinches them together.

 

“So you believe this is the solution?” She asks quietly. “To end it?”

 

“I wish it were not,” Toryk says. “But I believe I have no place in the life you wish to lead. You are going where I cannot follow.”

 

The phrase is familiar, and the ache developing in T’Lanar’s side doubles.

 

“Toryk—”

 

“I am simply asking after your wishes,” he says. “The decision is yours, T’Lanar, as it always has been.”

 

“That’s not fair,” she says, and her voice is unnaturally high. “Do not ask me to make your decisions for you, Toryk— not in this.”

 

And finally, he looks at her, head lolling against the back of the couch as he peers up at her from under a crinkled brow. He gives her a wry, decidedly Human smile.

 

_ “Ashayam,”  _ he says, and is this what heartbreak is? T’Lanar had never allowed him to call her that before, for all that she knew it gave him pleasure. “It should be obvious by now that you have always been the deciding factor in everything I have ever done. Our minds were one and the same, and now— now that there is dissonance, between us, I only wish to do whatever must be done to keep you… happy.”

 

Happy. That’s another word never spoken between them before, and yet, he uses it now. How could he use it now?

 

“Perhaps you will have the same luck our younger siblings have been having,” Toryk says, returning his attention to the holoscreen. “And you’ll find a better match than me at Hobie’s party tonight.”

 

“Perhaps you will have that luck instead,” T’Lanar says. “And I’ll be the one left alone.”

 

“Ashayam, out of the two of us, I have always been the intolerable one,” Toryk says. “First on Vulcan, and now here. Now, please— I would prefer to be left in solitude.”

 

T’Lanar goes, because what else can she do? She’s been… dismissed.

 

When she finally gets to the library, she finds her preferred reading nook— the one in the far, far back, between the hard copies of twenty-first century science textbooks regarding sexual education and the collection of Klingon erotica— pulls her feet up underneath her, and cries.

 

She didn’t expect this.


	18. Chapter 18

 

Hobie comes to pick up the Big Fish at three for the party, mostly because he’s decided to dress them all appropriately for the party. T’Ruao doesn’t think there’s anything appropriate about the red leather miniskirt she’s now found herself in, but then, Human custom has a strangeness to it, regarding the pubescent of their species. Perhaps the stylistic choices of revealing clothing and bright, colorful makeup has something to do with the numerous rights of passage that T’Ruao has discovered thanks to her new cousins.

 

Whatever the reasons, T’Ruao finds she quite likes the slight flush in Ruron’s cheeks when Hobie finally releases her back into the back parlor room where the others are waiting. She also rather enjoys the way _ he  _ looks, wearing jeans a sliver too tight and a red button down that remains mostly unbuttoned— likely on Hobie’s orders.

 

Ruron’s hands find her wrists and hold them, the slight rise in his cheek relaying a smile that he’s still a touch too Vulcan to show.

 

_ It suits you,  _ he thinks, allowing the thought to pulse down the connection between them.

 

“It suits you, as well,” T’Ruao murmurs, suddenly shy. Oh, she realizes. Maybe this is why Hobie was so insistent on her skirt.

 

“Well, that’s all of you done and dressed.” Speak of the devil. Hobie grins at all of them as he steps inside, dressed in black leather pants and a mesh t-shirt that suits him rather well. “Aren’t we all lovely? Please, let’s take a moment to appreciate my genius.”

 

Korenn chuckles quietly from his seat on the couch. Yellow suits his dark skin, particularly where Hobie has taken care to shade around his eyes.

 

“You are, as always, a wonder, Hobie,” T’Parna says, brushing past T’Ruao and Ruron to press a kiss to Hobie’s cheek. The boy flushes a bright, pleased pink.

 

“I am, I am,” he agrees as she pulls away. He claps his hands together. “So, with the prep out of the way, let’s go, shall we? Back door, if you please.”

 

“Why the b-b-back door?” Birnuk asks, frowning as Hobie leads them out of the room.

 

Hobie smiles.

 

“Because,” Hobie says. “We’re sneaking out.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“So, what you’re saying is that every month, the teenagers all sneak out to get drunk in the woods, except it’s not really sneaking because all the parents know about it?”

 

Jim’s incredulity makes Leonard want to laugh, so he does, because he can.

 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Leonard agrees. “I mean, if they get _ caught  _ sneaking out, that’s one thing, but mostly, we let them think they’ve pulled the wool over our eyes. Helps prevent potentially more disastrous attempts at teenaged rebellion.”

 

“So what, they just go drink in the woods and listen to music?” Uhura asks from her place beside Ben. Jim’s taken the other half of Spock’s loveseat. “Doesn’t seem that rebellious to me, especially considering that they’re allowed to do that every night anyway.”

 

“Well, here’s the thing about McCoy high school parties.” McCoy takes a sip of his beer. “There’s a lot of us, all of us closely related, and very little interaction with the outside world besides school— and a good half of us get homeschooled. So a big draw for these parties is the fact that the ones who aren’t homeschooled tend to bring along friends. Friends who aren’t directly related to the main family.”

 

“So the true goal of these parties is to prevent inbreeding,” Spock says, and they all cringe.

 

“... To put it bluntly, yeah.” Leonard rubs a hand over his face. “We’re a very… insular family. It’s not unusual to see fourth or fifth cousins tie the knot, though our branch draws the line there. The Arkansas branch isn’t nearly so careful but they… they’ve always been a little weird.” He grimaces. “We try to keep our dealings with them to the five year reunions, honestly.”

 

“Doctor, what do you mean by _ ‘Arkansas branch?’”  _ Chekov asks, because bless him, he knows how to change topics. “There are more McCoys?”

 

“Well, yeah, of course.” Leonard grins. “Somewhere in the mid-twenty-second century one of Pops’ ancestors had a litter of boys— fifteen of them, according to family archives. About half of them picked up and left Kentucky to start families of their own, but they all kept in touch. I have contact with… I think my eighteenth cousins, or something like that?”

 

“So, how many branches of McCoy are there?” Scotty asks.

 

“Well, technically, there’s forty-three, but that’s only if you count sub-branches. There’s eight big ones— Kentucky, which is the main line, Georgia, which is us, Arkansas, which is the weird one, then New York, Los Angeles, New Orleans, Texas, and Ireland.” Leonard pauses. “If you stick around, actually, you might end up meeting a few of them— it’s a reunion year.”

 

“Seriously?” Jim’s eyes sparkle. “When’s the reunion?”

 

“The week of Halloween,” Leonard says. “That way, we have a holiday that doesn’t get in the way of presents or anything, and we all get to do themes without looking like total freaks.”

 

“Themes?” Uhura leans forward. “You mean like… costumes, right?”

 

“Mhmm.” Leonard gives her a smile. “Last reunion we did movie monsters, I think. Or— no, sorry. It was _ Nightmare Before Christmas.” _

 

“What’s this year’s theme?” Sulu asks.

 

“I don’t know— I haven’t decided yet.”

 

There’s a pause.

 

“If I may ask, Doctor,” Spock says slowly. “But why are you the one to make a decision regarding the costume choices of what I assume will be the entire Georgia-McCoy branch?”

 

“Uh…” Leonard pauses. “Well, I mean. I’m the guy.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jim asks.

 

“What he means is, by family law, he’s next in line to inherit Pops’ position,” Dot says, strolling into her brother’s private living room with a baby that isn’t hers on her hip. “When Pops dies, Leo takes control of all familial assets and has the ability to update or repeal family law as he pleases— within reason, of course. It still has to go through peer review.”

 

Leonard feels every eye in the room find him, and he shrinks, just a little bit.

 

“It’s not that big a deal, really,” he mutters, looking away. “And it’s not like I’m guaranteed the job, anyway.”

 

“Dude,” Jim says. “All I’m getting out of this is that you’re like… a mini king. A lord. A Daimyo?”

 

“More like a chief,” Dot corrects. “One that keeps his nose out of other people’s business unless it can cause harm— things like incest, abuse, addiction— that kind of stuff.” She settles herself carefully on the arm of his armchair and looks over at him.

 

“Your new teens decided to stay behind,” she says, rocking the baby. “Munich and Dallas. Reggie’s decided to introduce them to the music room.”

 

Leonard nods thoughtfully.

 

“That might do Munich some good,” he says. “He seems like he could do with a little punk in his life.”

 

“Yeah,” Dot agrees. “I mean… just look at him.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jim asks, arching an eyebrow at the siblings.

 

Leonard shrugs.

 

“That kid’s full of all kinds of rage,” he says. “He needs to get it out before it gets out of hand. Twentieth century punk was basically made by and for kids like him.”

 

“Depending on the subgenre,” Dot adds.

 

“Well, yeah, of course.” Leonard wrinkles his nose. “We hid the Nazi punk stuff, right?”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“Nazi punk?” Uhura asks, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah. Mostly kept for educational purposes.” Leonard waves a dismissive hands. “It’s not like we can go around destroying the parts of the past we don’t like, after all. Leads to more mistakes in the future.”

 

“To be fair, we have had a few scares,” Dot adds. “Pops’ grandpa had a ban on interspecies relationships until he died, but that ended what, forty years ago?”

 

“Before I was born,” Leonard agrees. “Which is good, because then you and Orva would have eloped and my kid wouldn’t have found her soulmate.”

 

“Are you kidding? You would have ended up on my trailer doorstep with a trail of goldfish behind.” Dot sniffs. “You know I’m your favorite.”

 

“Sure you are,” he says, rolling his eyes.

 

Dot smacks him.

 

“Anyway,” she says, turning back to the group at large. “Wanna go see what Munich and Dallas are learning? Reggie’s always been the musician in our line, though maybe we can get Leo to show off a little, too.”

 

Jim’s eyes sparkle.

 

“More hidden talents?” he asks, turning back to Leonard. “Bones, geez, I knew you were holding out on me, but now I’m starting to think I don’t know you at all.”

 

Leonard scowls at his sister.

 

“You see this shit?” he says. “He’s never gonna let this go.”

 

“Maybe you should’ve brought him home sooner, then,” she retorts, hopping back to her feet. “C’mon. I’ll get Lenny, and we can all show them what a real show looks like.”


	19. Chapter 19

Reggie, for all intents and purposes, looks exactly like his brother, except he’s about a foot shorter and walks with a slight limp thanks to a bad fall off a bull some ten years ago. He’s also got a gift when it comes to music, jumping from instrument to instrument without too much trouble, mastering each one as he goes.

 

“We don’t have any Vulcan instruments around for right now,” he’s saying as the Alpha crew and his other siblings troop inside. “But a harp’s an excellent instrument to start with if you played the lyre. I mean, look at you, you’ve already picked up the basics—” he stops, turning away from Munich to catch sight of their audience. “Oh, _ hi,  _ Mark!”

 

Leonard snorts at the reference, and Dot grins.

 

“Never gets old,” she says, because she has awful taste in pop culture history.

 

“Enjoying yourselves, boys?” Leonard asks, looking over at the Vulcans.

 

“Uncle Reggie is trying to find suitable instruments for us to play,” Dallas says immediately. Out of the two, he’s more open. “I have chosen cello.”

 

Leonard gives him a smile.

 

“We haven’t had a dedicated cellist in our line since my dad was alive,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll do very well.”

 

“Munich’s tougher,” Reggie admits, reaching out to ruffle the teen’s hair and ignoring his disgruntled look. “He’s a dab hand at most plucky stuff, but it doesn’t really suit him, y’know?”

 

Leonard arches an eyebrow, taking in the black ensemble Munich’s favored so far and his blank, dead-eyed gaze.

 

“Yeah, I’m seeing that,” he agrees. “Maybe you need to pick a genre, first.”

 

Dot elbows Helen in the side.

 

“I think that’s our cue, Lenny,” she says. “Time for a crash course in music history.”

 

“We can just play—”

 

“Leo, live music trumps recorded any day, and these guys have only ever had acoustic, so far,” Dot says. “They won’t get a real show until the reunion, and that’s months away.”

 

“We do a big concert on Mischief Night,” Helen explains to the crew. “And the night before everyone leaves, Leo and the other heads do a performance of Pink Floyd’s _ The Wall.” _

 

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s a seminal piece of music,” Leo says when they all turn to look at him. “And it’s tradition.”

 

“One that _ you  _ started,” Dot points out, smug. “Because at heart, you are the biggest art nerd out of all of us.”

 

“Shut up, _ Dorothy.” _

 

“Get your guitar then, _ Leonard.” _

 

Leonard’s not going to win if he tries to fight her on this, so he doesn’t try. He knows his sister well enough to know she’s desperate to embarrass him in front of his crew, though— he doesn’t really think he’ll be too embarrassed. Yes, it’s always awkward for him to just… play, but on the other hand, it’s Jim. Jim and his soulmate and his soulmate’s girlfriend and his weird math nerd adoptive little brother and Scotty and Sulu and Sulu’s awesome boyfriend. All of these people have seen Leonard drunk in the last twenty-four hours, at least.

 

“So, what do we play?” Reggie asks as Leonard picks up the antique Les Paul he’s always preferred and pulls the strap over his head.

 

Leonard pauses.

 

“I don’t know,” he says, glancing over at his sisters. “What are we feeling?”

 

“Something… classic,” Helen says, moving to settle herself behind the drumset. “Not country.”

 

“No, not country,” Dot agrees, handing the baby almost carelessly to Sulu as she goes to pick up her bass. “Some rock?”

 

“Maybe…” Reggie snaps his fingers and picks up his guitar. “Got it. _ Three Dog Night.” _

 

Leonard grins.

 

“Joy to the World, then?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Nose goes on singing,” Dot says, pressing her finger to the button of her nose. Immediately, Leonard’s siblings jump into action, and he’s… he’s the slowest. Like always.

 

“You’re it,” Helen says, smirking.

 

Leonard rolls his eyes.

 

“Fine, whatever.” He ambles over to the ancient speaker, the only one compatible to his guitar, and tugs the dusty wire free from where it’s looped around the handle, plugging in his guitar and flipping it on. “Ready?”

 

Helen counts them in, and with a final glance at their audience, Leonard hits the first note.

 

_ “Jeremiah was a bullfrog! He was a good friend of mine. I never understood a single word he said, but I helped him drink his wine...” _

 

Jim’s eyes light up, his shoulders bouncing in rhythm. Turning, he catches Chekov by the hand and tugs him out into the small open space separating the McCoys from the crew, grinning at Chekov’s little surprised gasp as he’s spun across the floor.

 

The rest of the crew takes the hint. Spock is passed the baby— who Leonard now realizes might be his cousin Sonya’s kids, Aries— as Sulu and Ben join the little impromptu dance party, and Uhura gives Scotty a sly smile when he awkwardly offers her a hand.

 

At a later date, Leonard will think about that. He’ll think about the fact that Uhura’s not dumb, that she’s probably noticed the thing that’s developing between Jim and her boyfriend. He’ll wonder if she’s brought it up to Spock. He’ll wonder if she hasn’t, if she doesn’t plan to when the inevitable break-up comes.

 

Later, he will. Right now, he’s getting used to the way his fingers stretch across the strings and reminding himself how much fun it is to play.

 

Dallas and Munich look uncomfortable, but don’t fight when they’re pulled into the group, Dallas by Uhura and Munich by Chekov. It’s a little awkward— a lot of shuffling and careful nudges as they’re each given an impromptu lesson on freestyle Human dance.

 

There’s a lot of hopping. Apparently his crew aren’t all born phenomenal dancers like most McCoys are.

 

Still, it makes him happy. It’s relaxing, it really is, to see everybody seem so good-humored. Even Spock seems to be enjoying himself, bouncing Aries in rhythm to the music as he watches his girlfriend and his soulmate sway and spin to a nonsense song, utterly Human in every sense of the word.

 

A small curiosity begins to bloom in the back of Leonard’s mine. Idly, Leonard scratches at it, trying to figure out what, exactly, that curiosity’s about. After a moment, he realizes it isn’t his own, and the patter of a handful of little feet on the hardwood outside the music room.

 

Darling, Sugar, Honey, Rosie, and Boo step inside, dark eyes wide and curious as they survey the adults.

 

“We heard music,” Boo offers after a moment. “We came to watch.”

 

“We know we should be in bed,” Sugar says before Leonard himself can. “But we cannot sleep with all the…  _ energy  _ leaking from the Big Fish.”

 

Oh. Now that Leonard thinks about it, he can sort of feel it, too. God, he’s bad at this telepathy thing.

 

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t hurt to stay up a little late once in a while,” he says after a moment. “How about we get some of that energy out, huh?”

 

“I wanna sing!” Rosie pipes up after a moment, eyes hopeful as she peers out from under her cotton candy pink hair. “I know the words to lots of songs.”

 

“You know how to speak properly,” Darling says, sounding annoyed. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”

 

Rosie flaps a hand at her.

 

“I sound cuter,” she says. “I wanna be cute.”

 

Ben laughs.

 

“You’re cute enough on your own, Rosie,” he promises her, booping her nose with a finger the way he’s learned to do with most of the Fish.

 

“Thank you,” she says primly, giving him an angelic smile. Then, she turns back to Leonard. “Can I sing a song,  _ please?” _

 

“‘Course you can,” Leonard says, because he can’t say no to a face like that, and anyway, he has no reason to. “Which one are you thinking?”

 

Rosie stares at him a moment, and— oh. He’s got it.

 

“Have you been hanging out with Uncle Anthrax?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

 

“You have a cousin named  _ Anthrax?”  _ Scotty asks incredulously.

 

“Nickname. His name’s Anthony,” Boo says.

 

“Uncle Anthrax has been teaching me about the strength of rebellion through music,” Rosie says proudly. “He says I’m a good learner.”

 

“Oh, Jesus,” Reggie mutters, hiding a smile behind his hand. Dot’s not nearly so subtle, letting out a loud, barking laugh as she pats Rosie on the back.

 

“Alright, Rosie, what are we playing?” she asks, brushing back her bangs with her other hand.

 

“I’ll give you a hint,” Leonard says, then plucks out the first few notes to _ Tom Sawyer. _

 

“Oh, Jesus,” Reggie repeats as he reaches for his sticks. “Not _ another  _ one.”

 

Leonard sticks his tongue out at his little brother. Rush is the best, and he’ll fight you on that.


	20. Chapter 20

There is laughter and dancing and loud music and too much alcohol— or what Toryk assumes is too much alcohol. The air is thick with smoke, the chosen clearing lit only by a web of christmas lights wrapped around the trees and a handful of Chinese lanterns. Hobie says it’s due to an incident involving a bonfire and singed jeans, but Toryk is too intoxicated at this point to think about the implications of that.

 

It’s been an hour. He’s eaten three Hershey bars and a Twix. The world around him is a blur of faces, Human emotions, and the steady thump of too much bass filtering from the speakers strategically placed around the space.

 

It’s… nice, actually. Toryk doesn’t think he’s ever appreciated the friendliness of his Human cousins more. They’re actually trying to… cheer him up, he believes is the phrase, having heard rumors about his current romantic situation. Normally, he wouldn’t be too pleased about the constant touching and grabbing, but their feelings are genuine, and, well, the point of such events is to let loose, isn’t it?

 

One of his step cousins, Rhonda— the product of Uncle Louis’ wife’s first marriage— is being particularly kind to him, nudging him into partaking in the strange bouncing steps of Human dance with easy, playful grins and grasping hands. Her feelings toward him are a mixture of genuine friendly interest as well as sexual, and she doesn’t mind when he points it out to her, despite the obvious social wrong he commits in doing so.

 

“I thought you were hot the moment you stepped off Aunt Dot’s party bus,” she shouts into his ear over the music. “And this might be my only shot!”

 

Toryk knows about one night stands. The concept appears quite often in the Human films he’s been filling his newfound alone time with. It’s… it makes him slightly uncomfortable, to find himself the object of such desires, but like he said, he’s intoxicated, and he can’t help but feel a little bit flattered that someone is interested him in such a way. T’Lanar, no matter how mentally compatible, has never shown the slightest inclination towards having relations with him, even before the destruction of Vulcan.

 

So he doesn’t say no when Rhonda asks him to follow her out into the forest, away from the light and the party. He doesn’t stop her when she pulls him against her in the dark of the wood, rising onto her toes to press a Human kiss to his mouth. He doesn’t pull away when her hands find the button of his too-tight, fraying blue jeans that Hobie insisted he wear to this function. He doesn’t say no, because, because—

 

“Hey, Toryk, are you alright?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He can see the dimmest outline of a frown on Rhonda’s pretty face.

 

“Are you sure? You seem a little stiff. And not in a good way.”

 

“I am fine.”

 

Rhonda lets go of his jeans.

 

“I don’t think you are,” she says, stepping back. “I think you might be drunk.”

 

“I am not drunk.”

 

“Intoxicated, then.” She reaches out to catch his hand, and see, that’s the problem with McCoys. A lot of them still appear to be largely unaware of the meaning behind the gesture. “Are you alright for this?”

 

“I—”

 

“And I don’t mean physically. I mean emotionally.”

 

“I— I am Vulcan.”

 

“And you’re a McCoy.” Understanding, with a slightly humorous undertone tingles across Toryk’s senses. “We’re crazy, y’know. And you have like, trauma to amplify it— should I not have said that? I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

 

“No,” Toryk agrees, pulling his hand away sharply.

 

“Wait, no! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a bitch. But seriously.” He feels more than sees her move a little closer. “Do you wanna do this? Or do you wanna go back to the party?”

 

“No,” he says. He doesn’t know which option he means it for. Probably both.

 

“Okay.” There’s a pause. “Do you… do you wanna ditch? We can go back to my mom’s place, watch a holo or something.”

 

He would rather go home, honestly, but the idea of going back to his shared room is… unpleasant.

 

“That is an option.”

 

“The preferred option?”

 

“... Yes.”

 

“Okay. Alright. Let’s go to my place.” Rhonda reaches for him again, this time finding his abdomen in the darkness. The thin layer of his t-shirt protects him from the intimacy of her mental touch, mostly, but he can still feel the lightest hint of earnest concern. “C’mon. We’re in the Marigold Circle.”

 

The section of houses west of the big house, and conceivably the furthest collection of McCoy-owned and operated building on the entire estate.

 

The concept of distance is not… displeasing.

  
  


*.*

  
  


Erratic banging on the front door cuts through the musical moment Leonard, his siblings, a few of his children, and the crew are having. The force of it, along with the muffled wails that are just barely audible when the music stops, is enough to make the blood rush in his ears.

 

Something’s wrong. No one knocks on any door in the estate.

 

Exchanging a look with his siblings, he sets aside his guitar and darts through the small cluster of people into the hallway, turning so sharply as he bolts down the hall that he slides in his socks.

 

The banging echoes again just as he gets to the door, the wails growing louder but remaining quite unintelligible as he skids across the living room and leaps towards the door, the rest of the group hot on his heels. Chest tight, he wrenches the door open and—

 

“Eileen, what the hell happened to you?”

 

His niece lets out a shuddering sob and collapses into his arms, mindless of the blood on her hands as her fingers tangle in the worn cotton of his t-shirt. Instinctively, Leonard wraps his arms around her, lifting her up and dragging her inside.

 

“Okay, Eileen, okay,” he says, rocking her like she’s still seven years old and not seventeen. “You’re okay, just tell me what happened.”

 

She just cries harder. Luckily, Leonard’s a doctor, one who’s had more than a little experience when it comes to the sudden and unexplained crying of legal minors.

 

“Doctor…” Spock trails off, uncertain, but it’s enough to turn at least some of Leonard’s awareness back to the group.

 

“Sugar,” he barks. “Get your sisters back to their rooms and make sure none of the girls come down. Boo, go tell Bear to do the same and stay upstairs. Reggie, go get Pops. Spock, go wake T’Pring—”

 

“No need,” T’Pring announces, half-dressed in a borrowed bathrobe and her hair loose. “I am already awake.”

 

Leonard nods, glancing over at the kids just long enough to ensure he’s being obeyed. Then, he turns back to T’Pring.

 

“I’m stoned as shit,” he tells her flatly. “You’re the only other qualified medic on the estate.”

 

T’Pring stares at him a moment, then nods, moving to collect Eileen. It’s only when he’s passing her over that he notices where the blood is actually _ coming  _ from.

 

“She’s having a miscarriage,” he realizes.

 

“I believe you are correct, Doctor,” T’Pring says, face tighter than usual. “Is there somewhere this can be handled privately?”

 

“Basement,” Leonard says shortly. “It’s outfitted as a basic medical practice— Helen, take her?”

 

Helen nods curtly and hustles them both out of the living room.

 

There’s a beat of absolute silence.

 

“She had a black eye,” Jim says abruptly, face like stone. “Few days old. A split lip, too— new.”

 

Leonard closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

  
“Dot,” he says softly. “What the _ fuck  _ is going on with my goddaughter?”


	21. Chapter 21

“With Lauren gone, we couldn’t do anything.” Dot rubs a hand over her face tiredly. “Even Pops can’t break Family Law, you know that. And with Jocelyn dead, and you—”

 

“Don’t lay the blame at his feet,” Willie interrupts. “We could have called him.”

 

“Why didn’t you?”

 

Leonard is doing an excellent impression of a calm, rational man. He learned from the best, spending nearly every waking moment around Vulcans for the last two months. However, judging by the way Spock is carefully leaning as far away from him as he can manage without seeming rude, Leonard is failing at keeping a lid on how hard he’s projecting.

 

He doesn’t care.

 

If it were any other evening, he’d be a little freaked out by the fact that T’Pau’s sitting beside his grandfather, wearing what is clearly one of Willie’s t-shirts and a pair of faded pajama bottoms under her version of a casual overrobe. He thinks everyone would be a little freaked out, except now isn’t the time to worry about Pops’ sex life. Now is the time to explode.

 

_ Not yet, not yet… _

 

Willie sighs.

 

“Eileen hid it well,” he admits. “After her mother’s death, we were worried about her, so when she shacked up with the McManus boy, well… we thought it was a good thing. He seemed steady. We didn’t really pick up on it until just before you went into the black, but she wouldn’t admit to anything, and then when you came home…” Willie sighs. “There’s no excuse. There isn’t.”

 

He’s right. There’s no fucking excuse.

 

“How long’s it been going on?”

 

“... We’re not really sure,” Reggie says to the floor. “Couple months, at least.”

 

“Probably longer,” Dot says. “She never invited anyone to the house. She— God, she’s been  _ locking the doors, _ Leo.”

 

Nobody locks the doors on the estate. The only reason Eileen was banging on the Big House doors is because they’re too heavy for a bleeding anemic to push open herself.

 

He’s gonna kill the McManus boy.

 

There’s a careful knock, and Leonard looks up to see T’Pring standing in the doorway.

 

“Eileen is physically stable,” she tells them, but her eyes are on Leonard. “I have… ensured she sleeps.”

 

Leonard sighs, rubbing a hand over his mouth and grimacing at the smell of the blood that’s dried into the grooves of his skin.

 

“Thank you,” he says, pushing himself to his feet. “Alright. Enough excitement for tonight. Chekov, do me a favor?”

 

“I— of course, Doctor. Anything.” He has the look of a person who doesn’t want to be present for other people’s family drama. It’s weird, realizing that some people live their lives with concepts like _ privacy. _

 

“Go into the upstairs office— the one with the antlers— and pull the shotgun off the mantelpiece? The bullets are in the top drawer on the left in the desk.”

 

“Don’t do that,” Willie says sharply, jabbing a finger at Chekov. He turns back to Leonard. “Leo, you can’t shoot the kid.”

 

“Doctor McCoy has a point, I believe,” T’Pau says— best new accidentally adoptive parent  _ ever. _ “The only punishment for such behavior, is death.”

 

“So it was on Vulcan,” Spock corrects. “Humans did away with capital punishment a century ago.”

 

“More’s the pity,” Leonard mutters, casting around for his shoes. “Fine then, I won’t kill him in the house— it’s easier to hide a body in the woods, anyway.”

 

“He’s not kidding, is he?” Ben whispers, leaning just slightly into Sulu.

 

“I don’t think so,” Sulu mutters back. “I’m covering for him, though.”

 

“No need,” Jim says, hopping to his feet. “I’ll go with him, make sure he doesn’t go too far.”

 

Leonard’s smile is all teeth.

 

“You couldn’t hold me back last time,” he points out.

 

“Good point,” Jim says agreeably, because he’s much better at keeping up the genial act when he’s pissed than Leonard is. “Spock, get your shoes. You’re coming with us.”

 

Spock’s eyes widen imperceptibly, darting between Leonard and Jim uncertainly.

 

Uhura nudges him.

 

“Go,” she says, mouth pinched into a thin line. “We can’t have a murderer on a starship.”

 

Spock stays still a moment longer, then gets to his feet, disapproval radiating from the slight hunch in his shoulders as he goes to tug on his shoes.

 

It’s going to be a long night.

  
  


*.*

  
  


“... Alright, maybe I’m a bit dim,” Scotty says after the door clicks shut deceptively softly behind the trio. “But I’d like an explanation, please.”

 

“Family Law,” Dot says with a sigh, slumping against the table. “McCoys handle harassment and abuse internally.”

 

“It’s up to the parents, usually,” Reggie continues. “But Eileen’s dad hanged himself when Eileen was six, and Lauren died… two years ago, now? And when you’ve got dead parents— or the parents are doing the abusing—”

 

“Godparents step in,” Chekov finishes quietly. “And Doctor McCoy and his late wife are Eileen’s godparents, correct?”

 

“Right on the money, shortstop.” Willie pushes himself out of his chair and ambles over to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of scotch and a handful of glasses. “And Leo’s gonna go harder because there’s a baby involved.”

 

There’s a pause.

 

“... You know that’s fucked up, right?” Sulu says conversationally. “That’s really fucked up.”

 

“It is logical,” T’Pau corrects, glancing at Willie. “Many illegal happenings, on this property there are. Police involvement could draw unwanted attention. It also saves the victim embarrassment.”

 

“What’s embarrassing about a shitty boyfriend?” Scotty asks. “He’s the one who should be embarrassed, the slimy—”

 

“We have something similar, in our family,” Uhura interrupts quietly. “My family’s a bit like this— insular. Independent. We handle our own problems, and we handle them well.” She glances at Willie. “We’d make him disappear.”

 

“There hasn’t been a murder on this property in fifty years,” Willie says. “And Leo would hate himself, afterward. He’s the toughest bastard of the lot— there’s not been a fight he hasn’t won since he was in kindergarten. But he’s a soft heart. He’s already got enough on his conscience, I think.”

 

He pours a drink for all of them, then takes his seat beside T’Pau once more.

 

“T’Pring,” he says suddenly, looking up at the Vulcan.

 

“Yes, Willie.”

 

“Are you going back to bed anytime soon?”

 

“... I do not believe so, Willie.”

 

Willie leans back in his chair, wincing when he twists his back a little too much.

 

“Then you’d best have a seat, then,” he says, arching an eyebrow and looking pointedly at a glass that no one else had claimed.

 

T’Pring hesitates, then takes a seat, fingers curling around the glass.

 

No one says anything else.

  
  


*.*

  
  


“So, do you like movies?”

 

“I… have found enjoyment in family movie nights,” Toryk admits after a moment. Rhonda’s room is an explosion of media. Christmas lights are strung up along the windows, her walls lined with paper posters of musicians that are only vaguely familiar to him.

 

“Oh, good— because I don’t have much else to do in here.” Rhonda collapses onto the white comforter laid out on her bed, patting the space beside her. “Well, come on, put your feet up.”

 

Toryk hesitates, then toes off the boots Hobie had required he wear before carefully settling himself onto the bed beside her.

 

“See? Not so bad, huh?” Rhonda grins at him. “Whattaya wanna watch?”

 

Toryk blinks at her.

 

“Whatever you prefer,” he says. “I imagine I do not have as much experience regarding interesting films as you.”

 

“Dealer’s choice, then? Okay, that’s cool.” Rhonda hums thoughtfully. “Okay… how about…  _ Death Becomes Her?  _ It’s weird, but good weird. Cheesy weird.”

 

Toryk doesn’t really care.

 

“That is acceptable.”

 

“Awesome!” Rhonda fiddles with the holoplayer, then sits back as it flickers to life. “If you’re confused about anything, ask— I’ve seen this like, a million times. It’s my favorite.”

 

Toryk assumes he will be confused— he pauses the films he chooses to watch often, to look up the things he doesn’t understand— and thinks it’s rather kind of her to offer to explain.

 

He’ll tack the ease he feels with Rhonda up to the amount of chocolate he ingested tonight.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like... I said I was gonna be posting Tuesdays and Thursdays and just... didn't. Sorry about that.
> 
> On the bright side, I finished this installation in the series, so provided I remember to post, I should have it all up in like, two weeks? Also, the three-parter series I planned is going to probably be turned into a five-parter. There's too much stuff going on within the McCoy Estate to do in one fic, plus a lot of you have been asking for a roll call for the kids, so I'm going to be splitting this up so as not to make the plot too confusing or slow. After I finish this chunk, there's going to be a fic that fleshes out each kid a little bit more and names their bondmates, then there's going to be the McCoy Family reunion, and then (finally) we'll be talking about the move to New Vulcan. With any luck I'll finish this before I'm thirty. Cool? Cool.

Spock notices something strange on the silent walk to Eileen’s little house in Blueberry Circle. Every house, no matter how lively the families inside, goes dark as they pass, the music playing from the open windows cutting off abruptly and all chatter subsiding in favor of dark faces peering out of the windows. The Doctor doesn’t seem to have noticed, though Jim has, judging by the cold expression on his handsome face. He likely can’t hear the music and conversations their presence ends, but he’d have to be blind not to notice how dark the street is becoming.

 

Spock opens his mouth. Jim shakes his head before he can get a word out.

 

Leonard stops in front of a house not unlike any of the others they’ve passed. It has the same, small front porch, the same three stories, the same vegetable patch in the front yard, but unlike the others houses, the lights are still on, the light of the holoplayer flickering rapidly as a news station blares loudly enough to be heard from the street.

 

Leonard spits.

 

“Stay here,” he orders without looking at them, stepping onto the curb.

 

Jim watches his retreating back for just a moment before turning to Spock.

 

“We’ll go in when the screaming stops,” he mutters, glancing over his shoulder as his friend steps onto the porch. “He’ll listen to reason if the kid can’t mouth off.”

 

“What has led you to believe—” that Doctor McCoy is a rational man. “— That the boy will talk back to Doctor McCoy?”

 

Jim huffs a quiet laugh.

 

“Guys like this are sure of themselves,” he says. “Narcissistic assholes, always so certain they’re in the right—”

 

The sound of splintering wood makes them both startle, and Jim whirls just in time to watch the front door come crashing down in the face of the Doctor’s kick.

 

“Oh, _ shit.” _

 

There’s screaming, a voice that doesn’t belong to the Doctor demanding who the _ fuck  _ he thinks he is and what the _ fuck  _ he’s doing in _ his  _ house.

 

“Your house? No, this ain’t _ your  _ house, boy, this is my _ goddaughter’s  _ house!”

 

There’s the wet crunch of a bone breaking, a pained scream, and suddenly, Spock wishes he didn’t have Vulcan hearing.

 

Jim doesn’t twitch.

 

“I saw him get this mad once,” he says, and his tone could almost be considered conversational if not for the stiffness in his shoulders. “There was this girl, on our floor… somebody was messing with her, stealing her shit, that sort of thing. But then, one night, she knocks on our dorm room door…” Jim flinches as a bloodcurdling scream pierces the air. “And she’s all bruised up. Well, Bones got her to open up and… well. Ex-boyfriend. He dropped out a few days after he got out of the hospital. Probably a good choice, considering Bones made sure she reported him after.”

 

“Doctor McCoy is unstable,” Spock feels the need to point out.

 

“Nah. He’s just got a thing about abuse.” Jim arches an eyebrow. “Lord only knows what might happen if Munich’s parents show up asking for him back, or any of the others. That’s neglect, right there— leaving your kid after serious trauma.”

 

“It is logical to assume yourself incapable of caring for offspring while you yourself are compromised.”

 

“Not to Humans, it’s not. Kids come before everything else. Even yourself.” Jim sighs. “Assuming you’re a good parent, anyway. Now, come on— I think it’s time to pull Bones off the poor bastard, don’t you?”

  
  


*.*

  
  


“Oh, shit,” Hobie says when he checks his comm.

 

“What’s happened?” T’Ruao asks, leaning heavily into Ruron’s shoulder. She’s intoxicated— they all are— her hips swaying gently to the music as she clings to her bondmate.

 

“Problem at the Big House— apparently Cousin Eileen had a miscarriage.” Hobie snaps his communicator shut with his thumb. “Party’s over— everybody’s gotta go home.”

 

T’Ruao looks around. Nearly all of the non-Vulcan party goes appear to be getting similar messages, judging by the sorrow now permeating the air.

 

“Will we get in trouble?” Ruron asks, frowning at Hobie. “If the Big House is awake—”

 

Hobie shakes his head, mouth pinched.

 

“Eileen is Uncle Leo’s goddaughter— he won’t have time to worry about you tonight.”

 

The pang of jealousy in T’Ruao’s gut is illogical and… pathetic. She wills it away.

 

“Ruron!” T’Lanar jogs up to the trio, looking unusually worried. “I can’t find Toryk— he has been gone half the night.”

 

Her worry over her bondmate is palpable, through the tentative familial bond formed between the elder Fish. T’Ruao moves to soothe it instinctively, hand finding her sister’s shoulder.

 

“Have you tried through your bond?” she asks gently.

 

“I lack the control in my current state,” T’Lanar admits. T’Ruao can feel it what she means, sort of— there seems to be a layer of…  _ grime  _ perhaps would be the best word, trailing through T’Lanar’s half of their bond.

 

“He likely went home early,” Ruron says. “He was not… _ feeling  _ a party, tonight.”

 

T’Lanar bites her lip, glancing back towards the remnants of the party.

 

“He can’t have gone far,” Hobie interjects. “Even if he didn’t go home, he’s probably just shacked up at one of the cousins’ houses. But we have to go now, T’Lanar— before we _ do  _ actually get in trouble.”

 

Biting her lips, T’Lanar nods, and the rest of the Vulcans gather.

 

“This is more than a miscarriage,” Korenn murmurs in Vulcan. “Bonz would not be so furious over something so simple.”

 

“He is angry?” T’Parna asks, wrapping a hand around her bondmate’s forearm.

 

Korenn nods, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment.

 

“I was checking in,” he says. “I opened the bond between us… I would not suggest anyone else try.”

 

He grimaces, and T’Parna’s grip on his arm tightens.

 

“Shit,” Hobie mutters.

 

T’Ruao can’t think of a better word to describe the situation.

  
  


*.*

  
  


It’s T’Shir that spears their entrance, if only because out of all of them, she’s the most unflappable in the face of God only knows what. Her bondmate, in contrast, brings up the rear, head bowed in preparation for a punishment that likely only exists in his head.

 

The lights are on when they step into the Big House, the crew of the _ Enterprise  _ assembled and silent, clutching glasses full of some kind of liquor. T’Pau is there, seated beside Pops (and dressed decidedly… Human), as are Bonz’s three siblings. All of them appear to be circled around… Bonz.

 

He doesn’t look like himself, slumped in his preferred armchair. He’s pale, his face pinched with a deep, dark fury that T’Shir has never seen before. His projection nearly makes her stumble, but she doesn’t, too focused on the blood crusted on his knuckles and the bruise forming on his jaw.

 

He only looks up when the door shuts quietly behind them.

 

“Nice to see you back,” he rasps, eyes flat. “Upstairs, now. Check on the kids, then go to bed. You get a free pass, tonight.”

 

T’Shir nods sharply, kneeling to untie the sneakers Hobie had loaned her. Behind her, she hears the tell-tale squeaks of the others doing the same.

 

“Doctor, I will see to your hands.” T’Pring appears in the doorway leading to the basement, holding a bowl of water, a rag, and a small bag that appears to hold a skin regenerator.

 

Bonz doesn’t answer, but doesn’t fight when she kneels by the arm of his chair, setting the bowl on the table beside him and taking his hand in hers. 

 

She isn’t wearing gloves, T’Shir realizes suddenly, watching as T’Pring wets the rag and runs it gently over his knuckles, twisting his fingers in her own to check for fractures. Could it be—?

 

T’Shir looks away, giving them as much privacy as she can manage.

 

She’ll talk it over with the others later. Then she’ll decide if she approves.


	23. Chapter 23

Dolly doesn’t sleep that night, too intent on finding the thread of her cousin’s thoughts downstairs. She’s always been good at that sort of thing— her telepathic abilities promised her a bright future in healing, provided they didn’t diminish with age the way most Vulcan abilities did.

 

Eileen felt like pain, in the brief time Dolly and the others had been in the room with her, her physical agony overlapping with heartbreak until Dolly couldn’t tell which was which. She knew there was heartbreak there, though— she’d felt it before, in the adult Vulcans on the Enterprise and in Bonz himself, though his pain was more of a dull throb than the burning ache that tore through Eileen’s thoughts.

 

Eileen is Bonz’s goddaughter. That much Dolly had heard as she and her siblings were shuffled upstairs post-haste upon her arrival. That, added with the sudden flood of fury that caused more than a few tears and a lot of huddled clumps of brothers and sisters in beds to small to hold them all, tells Dolly that whatever happened to her was bad. Very bad.

 

She’d like to make it better, if she can.

 

Her eyes are screwed shut with concentration as she reaches out with her mind, brushing past the thoughts of her brothers and sisters. She can sense Eileen, distantly, where she’s tucked into the opposite corner of the house, and reaches out to grab her, as tightly as she can manage.

 

There’s a lot of pain. Too much pain. It’s everything Dolly can do not to scream, but she doesn’t let go, either. She holds on tight, pushing past nightmares and bad memories that she forces herself not to look at too closely, and thinks of happy things.

 

The dogs that run wild across the Estate, happy to play a game of catch or roll over for a belly rub. The cats that roam the barn in Pansy Square, just a few minutes down the road, who are more than willing to cuddle up close if you sit still for long enough and quietly enough. Her brothers and sisters, as numerous as they now are. Bonz, smiling warmly as she stumbles through a rendition of Blitzkrieg Bop with Rosie and Boo.

 

Slowly, Eileen’s pain lessens— though it doesn’t go away— and her mind relaxes into something more restful, fuzzy at the edges where the sedatives she’s probably taken have affected her.

 

Dolly doesn’t sleep that night. Instead, she waits until just before her older siblings wake, and slips downstairs, following the thread that she now knows to be Eileen down into the basement.

 

Eileen is asleep on a biobed, bruised face hidden by her McCoy brown hair. She looks… small. And cold. Like she needs a hug.

 

As carefully as possible, Dolly climbs up onto the bed, sliding into the little space between the edge and Eileen’s side. Settling her blonde head  (Lucian had bleached it for her just last week and she _ adores _ it), on the empty half of the pillow, she settles a small hand on Eileen’s chest, watching it rise and fall with her godsister’s breaths.

 

It’s only then that she sleeps.

  
  


*.*

  
  


T’Lanar doesn’t sleep that night, the conversation she’d had with Toryk replaying itself over and over again in her mind. She’s decided to sleep in their room, the first time she’s bothered since their argument over breakfast.

 

What if he found a McCoy he likes during the party? What if he found another, one of the guests from outside the Estate? What if he hasn’t, and he’s just being spiteful?

 

All those thoughts are unhappy ones, mostly for the same reason. They’re indications that Toryk doesn’t want to be with her, that he doesn’t… doesn’t _ love  _ her.

 

T’Lanar doesn’t know if she’s in love, herself. She’s never given it much thought. She was bonded to Toryk, and that was that. No questions about her future, or romance, or anything Human like that. It wasn’t Vulcan to think that way, after all. They were compatible, and that was enough.

 

He’s been her closest confidante since they were bonded, her best friend before she knew the meaning of the word. She loves him, at least in that way, and can’t imagine a world without him by her side.

 

And yet…

 

T’Ruao and Ruron have a healthy and active sexual relationship, as do T’Parna and Korenn, and T’Lirna and Sturek. Hell, even T’Shir and Birnuk have something going on at this point, a fact T’Lanar only knows because she had the misfortune of walking into their room without knocking.

 

(Oh, how she wishes she could just scrub those memories away. T’Shir’s back was a mess of scratches and bruises, and she seemed more than happy to have them.)

 

But she and Toryk… they’ve never been together like that. He’s made advances, in the past, gentle attempts to push them further into the realm of a well-bonded couple, but she’d always rebuffed them, citing rules and social boundaries and worries over privacy and other, ultimately frivolous matters. She doesn’t know why, really. Her parents would understand— after all, they were bonded, and his fever was not so far into the future— and his parents had never been home, acting as the Vulcan ambassadors to Andor with very little time for their ill-behaved son.

 

(Oh, if they could see him now… unfortunately, they’re dead, one of their rare visits to their home planet coinciding with its destruction.)

 

T’Lanar’s never felt that way about her bondmate, however. She’s had ample chances, since the destruction of Vulcan— she’s seen him in the nude nearly every day, since, in the midst of getting dressed after his morning shower or readying himself for bed. Objectively, he’s the platonic ideal of male Vulcan physique, evenly toned, lightly furred, decently endowed… but it’s never done anything for her. Not— not that way.

 

Her cheeks heat at the very thought, and she hides herself under her covers. It shouldn’t embarrass her, thoughts like this— she’s a teenager. Teenagers have thoughts like this all the time.

 

(Not her, though. She rarely, if ever, has thought about her bondmate in a sexual manner.)

 

He’s always been kind about it, really. Understanding. He’s taken her rejection with an ease she doesn’t think many would, which makes her feel worse about the whole thing. They’re meant to be perfect, completely mentally compatible, and yet there’s this… thing, that blocks her, that keeps her from giving him everything she ought to be more than happy to share of herself, if only with her bondmate.

 

The bond is still there between them, faint as it is where they refuse to acknowledge it. That will have to be enough for her, at least until they can have a proper, logical conversation.

 

It will have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this yesterday. Oops.


	24. Chapter 24

Nyota Uhura thinks herself a smart woman, and she’s right to think so. She’s absolutely brilliant, in more ways than one, with a keen sense of interpersonal relationships and interactions. It’s what makes her an excellent communications officer, and what helped her recognize Spock’s interest in her in the first place.

 

It’s why she realizes as quickly as she does that Spock… has lost interest in her.

 

It’s not obvious, not the way it might be in a Human. He’s still attentive to her, still physical with her in the Human sense, with finger touches and handholding and the occasional kiss when they’re both alone, but there’s something different, something missing, like the spark so carefully nurtured between them is gone.

 

It hurts, a little bit. She loves Spock, or is very close to loving him, and the thought that he might not be as invested in their relationship as he once was is heartbreaking. But it’s a fact, and Nyota is a practical woman, with a practical approach to avoiding further pain.

 

“It’s not working, is it?” she asks him the morning after Leonard beats a boy to a bloody pulp in the name of family. It’s the first time they’ve been alone in a long time outside of their shared bedroom at Imogen’s, settled on the back porch of the Big House while Leonard and the rest of the crew try to wrangle the children into sitting and eating their breakfast. “Us, I mean.”

 

Spock hesitates a moment longer than he should have, and that’s practically agreement, coming from him.

 

“I… am unsure what you mean,” he says.

 

“You’re not lying,” Uhura says. “But you’re not exactly telling the truth, either. Are you?”

 

He stays silent.

 

“You feel it, too,” she continues softly, staring out across the yard. “The…  _ something,  _ that’s been lost between us. The emotion.”

 

“It is not totally lost,” Spock corrects quietly.

 

“On my part, definitely,” she agrees. “But you… I mean, I think you still love me. But it wasn’t like before.”

 

Spock stays quiet, brow furrowed just slightly in thought.

 

“You are my friend,” he says after a moment. “My first friend. My first social choice, decided for myself without input or pressure from anyone but myself.”

 

“I know.”

 

“But you are correct.” He bows his head. “My feelings for you are not as they once were, though they remain. I am… sorry.”

 

She reaches out, hesitates, then moves anyway, wrapping an arm around his waist.

 

“It’s okay,” she says, even though it’s clearly not. “You’re still my best friend, no matter what.”

 

His hand wraps around her wrist, squeezing gently.

 

“And you are mine,” he says. “Always.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


Toryk wakes up comfortable and refreshed in a way he hasn’t in a very, very long time. He doesn’t worry about where he is because he knows exactly— he’s in bed, burrowed under a nest of thin, soft sheets with Rhonda, who has excellent taste in films and a sense of humor he can actually follow.

 

Rhonda’s hair is red, he realizes when he shifts to look at her. He hadn’t realized that last night, the color washed away in the face of rainbow Christmas lights and the blue glow of the holoplayer. It’s a rather nice color, really.

 

The girl in question’s eyes flutter open under his gaze, revealing more-green-than-brown hazel eyes that had also escaped his notice.

 

“Mornin’,” she mumbles, rolling onto her back to stretch. “How’d you sleep?”

 

“Well, thank you.”

 

Rhonda hums, pleased.

 

“Y’know, this isn’t how I expected my night to turn out,” she says, smiling at him. There’s a gap between her teeth, he realizes. What a fascinating flaw, so easily corrected... yet left as is.

 

“You were expecting a sexual encounter,” Toryk says, not particularly bothered by this.

 

“Yeah, sorta,” Rhonda admits easily. “Honestly, though, I think this might have been better. I’m not really into guys, normally— you’re kind of a one-off, for me.”

 

“Fascinating.”

 

“M-hmm.” Rhonda rolls her shoulders absently. “Now that I’ve hung out with you, though, I think I might have just been interested in your aura, you know? Your _ essence.” _

 

“... I do not understand.”

 

“Oh, you know.” Rhonda shifts back onto her side, tucking her hands under her cheek. “You’ve got this… presence about you. I could feel it as soon as Uncle Leo introduced you. You’ve got…” she trails off, looking for the right words. “You’ve got the _ soul  _ of an artist, I think.”

 

“I promise you, I am no artist.” He pauses, thinking back to the one disastrous evening on the Enterprise when Bonz had decided to introduce them all to fingerpainting as a form of therapy. “I can hardly achieve a stick figure, with effort.”

 

“So? There’s lots of things that can be considered art— you just haven’t tried doing them yet.” Rhonda blows a lock of fiery hair out of her face, pulling an amusing expression. “Maybe you write poetry, or sing, or something. Maybe you’re a photographer, just waiting to be unleashed upon the galaxy.”

 

And perhaps it is simply the level of comfort Toryk feels in his current position, curled up under the sheets like a child in just the jeans Hobie had borrowed him after a good night’s rest, but he snorts, feeling decidedly un-Vulcan.

 

“Unlikely,” he says. “Vulcans are not artists any longer— not in the way you are thinking of, anyway.”

 

“Whattaya mean?”

 

“Art is an expression of emotion,” Toryk says. “Such public displays are frowned upon, save for performances of our classical instruments or plays meant to remind us of our progress.”

 

“That sounds like bullshit,” Rhonda says frankly. “I’m sure there were Vulcan artists still creating things— there probably still are, actually. You just haven’t heard of them.”

 

Toryk inclines his head.

 

“Be that as it may, I am not one of them,” he says. “I might have been considered something of a rebel among my people, but I assure you, art was not one of my forms of rebellion.”

 

Rhonda stares at him a moment, then bursts into giggles.

 

Toryk arches an eyebrow.

 

“What have I said that amuses you?”

 

“Nothing,” she gasps, pressing a fist over her mouth to stifle her laughter. “Just— you, a rebel? You’re the most clean-cut of the lot! Except for maybe Munich, but that might just be that he’s new.”

 

Toryk blinks at her, hyper-aware of his semi-dressed state and the fact that they are literally hiding under the covers.

 

“Thank you very much,” he says, because Humans like expressions of gratitude when they give you a compliment.

 

Rhonda only laughs harder, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.

 

“You’re welcome,” she says earnestly. “Do you want breakfast? I can’t cook much, but I can make a mean spread of boxed pancakes.”

 

Toryk really should head back to the Big House. Surely his absence has been noticed by now.

 

Except he really doesn’t want to.

 

“I have never had pancakes,” he admits.

 

“You’ll love them,” Rhonda promises. “Especially when you try mine. The secret ingredient is just a little bit of vanilla extract— makes ‘em just… perfect.”

 

“If it is a secret, why have you told me?”

 

“Well,” Rhonda says, smiling. “I’m trusting you’ll keep it to yourself. You will, won’t you?”

 

“... If you wish me to, I will.”

 

Her smile widens.

 

“I knew I could count on you, Toryk,” she says. “Now, c’mon— let’s go make breakfast.”


	25. Chapter 25

T’Pring notes one blonde head missing at breakfast, along with Toryk’s. She draws no attention to it, however, recognizing the Doctor’s lack of worry as sign that all is well, regardless of the implications of not one child, but two missing from the morning meal.

 

He disappears shortly after dismissing the children from the table, down into the basement. His crew takes the action at face value, and leaves him along to be with his goddaughter. T’Pring gives him an hour of solitude before following, certain that the last thing he needs is to be alone with nothing but his thoughts and the reason his thoughts are so troubled in the first place.

 

She slips into the little room that was meant to serve as nothing more than a family practice silently, shutting the door with a quiet click behind her.

 

The Doctor doesn’t look up from his vigil. His legs are spread wide, his elbows propped on his knees and his chin resting on his tangled fingers. His patient— her patient, really, he’d been honest about his intoxication and had asked her to take his place caring for her— is not alone on the biobed, having found a bedmate sometime in the night to curl around.

 

“Doctor,” she greets, moving to stand beside him.

 

He lets out a small, humorless laugh.

 

“Mister T’Pring,” he says, twisting his head so he can see her just out of the corner of his eye. “Funny. I was expecting Jim to come drag me out.”

 

“I believe the captain thought it best to leave you time to… cool off, as it were,” T’Pring says, cocking her head. “I thought it might only cause you more pain to leave you alone for too long.”

 

Doctor McCoy grunts, turning back to the biobed.

 

“I came in to check on Eileen before breakfast,” he says to the bed. “Dolly was already here, sound asleep. Musta come in sometime after dawn, after I went to bed but before the big kids came down.”

 

“... Eileen does not seem to mind the company,” T’Pring says cautiously.

 

“No, I don’t think so. Eileen was always a cuddler.” He sighs. “I suppose it’s good they’re still asleep. She needs her rest, after— everything.”

 

His hands drop, the scabs on his knuckles breaking as he flexes his hands.

 

“I should’ve been here,” he says wretchedly, shaking his head. “I’ve always been able to tell these kinds of things, I would’ve caught it, I would’ve stopped him—”

 

“You were here when you were needed,” T’Pring interrupts firmly. “She would not have thanked you for interfering before she herself was ready to leave. It would have caused a bigger mess than necessary, had you interceded while she still believed herself in love with him, or that he loved her. She would have returned to his side.”

 

“You don’t know that.”

 

“I have not had experience in the matter, no,” T’Pring agrees. “But I read some fascinating articles regarding the subject in the McCoy library last night… I had trouble sleeping.”

 

She doesn’t know why she says that. She has no business saying something like that, implying her own, private worry over the girl who is Doctor McCoy’s goddaughter and the ramifications her pain would have on the Doctor himself. As far as she can tell, he is currently unaware of her interest in him, of her subtle pursuit of his attention.

 

“I don’t think many people slept well last night,” he says. “I’ve scared my crew, and I’ve traumatized my kids. Plus, y’know, one of my boys didn’t come home last night— he shacked up at my cousin Louis’ house, with his daughter. I was pretty sure she was a lesbian, but if it turns out she isn’t, I’m fucked. The whole house is going to be in an uproar.”

 

T’Pring can imagine. After all, Toryk is bonded, and the implication of his spending the night with a female who isn’t his bondmate… he’ll be lucky if T’Lanar only kills him, really, regardless of the situation that is their relationship.

 

The Doctor hangs his head.

 

“There’s too much going on,” he mutters at the floor. “Too many kids to look after, too many customs to worry about, too many traumas to soothe and relationships to juggle and fucking  _ weddings  _ to plan… not to mention I’m probably somehow part of Spock’s family, now, too. Can you imagine?”

 

“I can,” T’Pring says. “After all, I was meant to be his wife.”

 

Leonard’s expression morphs into one of surprise, than… T’Pring has heard the captain refer to it as the Doctor’s _ ‘of course’  _ face.

 

“Fan-frickin’-tastic,” he says. “You don’t mind he’s with Uhura?”

 

“He did not mind when I courted Stonn,” T’Pring says mildly. “I do not think it would be fair to mind his relationship with a beautiful and intelligent Human female, or anyone else, for that matter.” She pauses. “As it stands, the bond we had is broken. It has been so for several months, now.”

 

Leonard grimaces.

 

“I hate being right,” he mutters, rubbing a large hand over his face tiredly.

 

“The captain will be well-suited to him, when the time comes for Spock to understand the depth of their newfound friendship,” T’Pring says politely. “But I believe for now it is best to keep quiet on the subject.”

 

Leonard groans into his palm.

 

“I don’t wanna deal with all this, T’Pring,” he says helplessly. “I really don’t.”

 

“But you must,” she says. “And you will manage it all beautifully, I imagine.”

 

She reaches out, then, holding her hand palm out for him to take. He turns, looking first at her outstretched palm, then at her.

 

She holds his gaze, steady under his scrutiny.

 

“Proper Vulcans don’t hold hands,” he says, brow furrowed questioningly as he looks at her. “Except for my kids and Sybok, Vulcans hardly touch at all.”

 

“I understand the meaning of this gesture in your culture,” T’Pring says. “Just as you understand its significance in mine. You may take it as you wish.”

 

He gazes at her a moment longer, unnaturally blue eyes unreadable and his projection just as clouded, before reaching out to take her hand, tugging her closer.

 

His knuckles are still oozing sluggishly, staining her skin red where his fingers tangle with hers, but she finds she doesn’t care. His emotions are strange, a mixture of a wish for comfort and intimacy as well as reservation. He is uncertain of her, uncertain of himself, but he is also desperate, and she is offering him what he would like most of all.

 

She doesn’t pull away when he presses his face into her side, looping his other arm around her hip. Instead, she pulls him closer, wrapping her free arm around his shoulders and squeezing the way she’d seen him do a thousand times before with his children. It’s a hug, a Human gesture, and T’Pring finds it… not displeasing.

 

After a moment, he pulls away, fingers tightening around her for just a moment before letting them drop.

 

“We should let them sleep,” he mutters, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he pushes himself to his feet. “And I need to fix my hands.”

 

“I will aid you, if I may,” T’Pring says. He doesn’t really need the help— it’s a simple matter of finishing the work she’d started last night— but he gives her a little smile, nodding his head in agreement.

 

“Yeah, that’d be great,” he says.

 

His blood is on her hands, startling in color against her green-tinged skin, but his smile is warm, even if his eyes are sad. Taken by a sudden, illogical urge, she reaches up, cupping his jaw gently and leaning forward.

 

Humans kiss on the lips to show intimacy, but they are not yet intimate, so instead, T’Pring uses the advantage of her height to brush her lips against his forehead, more a gesture of comfort than anything, among Humans.

 

He seems to understand, though, the cost of her action in regards to Vulcan propriety, and takes it for what it is, eyes fluttering closed as he presses his cheek into her palm.

 

“... C’mon,” he mutters after a moment, eyes still closed. “There’s discussions to be had between you and I, I think, and I don’t think it’s appropriate to have them by a sickbed.”

 

T’Pring agrees, loath as she is to admit it, and steps away, separating them physically.

 

“The regenerator is in the kitchen, Doctor McCoy,” she says.

 

Leonard snorts.

 

“Lead on, then, T’Pring,” he says. “And please— call me Leonard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go for this installment of the series! What shall happen next, I wonder?


	26. Chapter 26

“I don’t like when Bonz is sad,” Bear mutters to Sugar over pilfered jars of Pops’ moonshine. “It’s… _ sticky.” _

 

Bear has grown to enjoy using evocative, ill-suited words to describe telepathic happenings. In this case, at least, Sugar understands what he means.

 

“He is Human,” Sugar says. “Humans feel unhappy, sometimes.”

 

“We ought to try and cheer him up,” Buddy says, idly tearing at the grass under his knees. “What can we do to cheer him up?”

 

“We can make him something,” Daisy says. “Like a card— Louisa says she makes her mothers cards whenever they’re sad, and it always makes them feel better.”

 

“A card?” Amber repeats dubiously. “But cards have things written in them pertaining to the purpose of giving them. What do we write inside?”

 

There’s a pause as the children take a moment to think.

 

“We should tell him how grateful we are that he has chosen to care for us,” Sugar says after a moment. “Something that relays that despite our cultural differences, we are happy he is our caretaker, even if he doesn’t understand all of our customs.”

 

Hank looks up from the deck of cards he’s been methodically shuffling for the entire conversation.

 

“Pops has been teaching me Human songs,” he says. “There are a few lines that might suit.”

 

“We can make it really big,” Bear says, dark eyes lighting up with excitement. “And have everyone sign it.”

 

“We have to make it colorful,” Daisy says. “Humans find colorful things enjoyable.”

 

Sugar listens to it all, humming thoughtfully.

 

“Very well,” she says. “Amber, go and see if Lucian has any poster board we might be able to make use of. Buddy, go and see Ulysses would be willing to let us borrow his paints. Bear, if you could gather the rest of our siblings?”

 

Everyone moves at once, happy with a task that might prove beneficial to Bonz’s emotional turmoil.

 

Sugar waits for them all to go before turning to Hank.

 

“What do you have in mind to write?” she asks.

 

“There are a few options,” he admits. “But my Standard spelling isn’t perfect, yet.”

 

“That’s alright,” Sugar says. “Bonz won’t mind.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


Jim and Spock had taken a walk, after before lunch, to talk about ships and Starfleet and the apparent accolades they’d be receiving, according to a communication that had been sent the night before and gone completely unnoticed thanks to the mess of a time they’d all had. That’s when they see the crowd, all of Leonard’s children gathered in one place.

 

“Well,” Jim says, arching an eyebrow. “That looks like trouble. Let’s go poke it with a stick and see if we can help any.”

 

Spock looks like he wants to sigh, but doesn’t. Jim hears it anyway, though, because he’s got a  _ fantastic  _ imagination.

 

They approach the group.

 

“So,” Jim starts, startling the children nearest him as he puts his hands on his hips. “What are we doing?”

 

“Bonz is unhappy,” Cookie pipes up from where she’s stooped over what looks like a mess of paint splatter. “So we’re making him a present so he feels better.”

 

“... Logical,” Spock says after a beat, though he looks confused as to why.

 

“That’s a great idea,” Jim says cheerfully, leaning forward to peer at their project. “What are you making?”

 

“A card,” Buddy says without looking up. He has yellow paint smeared into his hair, which Jim can already tell Bones is going to _ love  _ helping him wash out. “With all our names on it.”

 

Jim grins at him.

 

“Good choice,” he says. “Bones’ll love that— he’ll probably hang it up on the fridge.”

 

There’s an excited wave of murmurs that follow that statement. Jim suddenly wonders if he should have left that particular door closed— after all, there’s only so much space available for fridge art, and there are an awful lot of Fishies.

 

“Do you require any help?” Spock asks politely.

 

“No,” Bear says, carefully spelling out his name in shaky Standard lettering. “We’ve got it.”

 

Jim smiles.

 

“I suppose we’ll leave you to it, then,” he says. “Good luck, guys.”

 

There’s a smattering of ‘thanks, Uncle Jim’s and ‘yes, captain’s that follow them as they pick their way back out of the crowd.

 

“I say we head to the Big House, put up our feet, and watch the fun,” Jim says. “And I think we should grab the rest of the crew, too.”

 

“You expect entertainment to come from this innocent display of familial love?” Spock asks.

 

“Even better— I expect _ tears, _ Spock. Bones is a big softie, and I’m not missing it for the world.” Jim pauses. “You in?”

 

Spock’s eyebrow twitches upward.

 

“Of course, Captain.”

  
  


*.*

  
  


Leonard is sitting on a stool by the kitchen counter, chatting idly with T’Pring as she runs the regenerator once more over his knuckles. Their body language is easy, their conversation too quiet for Jim to catch, but he’s not an idiot, and he knows a first date when he sees one, even if it doesn’t really count if you don’t actually do anything except stare at each other in a fancy kitchen.

 

Whatever. Jim’s not here for that romance stuff— though it’s certainly interesting. He’s here for cute little kids and teenagers and their awkward, grumpy old dad.

 

Bones looks surprised when they all come streaming in at once, filling the kitchen with tiny bodies and high-pitched chatter. He melts when Sugar and Bear step up, holding a piece of paper that even folded in half is twice as big as they are for him to take, and probably twice as heavy, too, considering how much paint is slopped across the cover.

 

“You guys made this for me?” he asks, and there’s a weird hitch in his voice, like maybe he’s choking up, just a little bit.

 

God, Jim wishes he had popcorn.

 

There’s a chorus of yesses, followed by the pleas to ‘open it, Bonz, open it!’, so naturally he does.

 

Jim was right. His best friend’s eyes get very bright and very wet very quickly as he sets the card gently on the counter and pulls whoever’s nearest him into a tight hug.

 

“I’m proud of you too,” he says, loudly enough for them all to hear, even Jim and Spock and Scotty and everyone else who’s seated mostly out of view in the living room. “I’m so proud of each and every one of you, you wouldn’t even believe.”

 

He moves through them all, stooping to pull each and every one of them into a hug, and sometime during this, Jim realizes something— he doesn’t actually know what the card says.

 

As quietly as he can manage, he slips out of the living room into the hallway, taking the other entrance into the kitchen so he can get a look at the card itself and stay out of Bones’ sight at the same time.

 

T’Pring nods at him but doesn’t say a word as he sidles up beside her, leaning without touching the card itself to red what it says.

 

Written out in shaky, childish pencil, he reads out three lines.

 

_ I am very proud of my Daddy’s name _

_ All though his music and mine ain’t exactly the same _

_ Love, _

 

Blinking, Jim realizes the scribbles surrounding the words aren’t scribbles, but in fact signatures, each written out in Terran Standard. Except it isn’t just signatures, because… because…

 

Because it’s from Sugar _ McCoy,  _ Bear McCoy, Buddy  _ McCoy. _ Blue, Red, and Goldie  _ McCoy.  _ Saavik _ McCoy  _ and Tiger  _ McCoy  _ and Waylon and Hank and Merle and T’Ruao and Ruron and T’Shir _ McCoy.  _ All of them have named themselves McCoys, every single one.

 

And Bones agrees with them. Of course he agrees with them.

  
  


*.*

  
  


Rhonda insists on walking Toryk back to the Big House, which he doesn’t really mind. It’s well past lunch— nearly dinner, honestly— but they’d been busy, Rhonda happily introducing him to landmark films of the twentieth century. His favorite so far from their little marathon is _ Apocalypse Now, _ though he required some context— context that Rhonda is more than happy to explain during their walk.

 

She’s telling him about the helicopters used for filming— how they’d been rented from the local dictator, and how they’d occasionally fly off in the middle of shooting to fight in a war that had been raging in the Phillipines at the time— when T’Lanar spots them. They don’t see her, though, too distracted by their conversation, until it’s too late, her open palm making contact with Rhonda’s cheek with a sharp crack, sending her flying.

 

Toryk goes stiff, a sudden, sharp stab of pain blooming behind his eyes. His knees buckle, his hands reaching up to clutch at his hair as agony rips through his mind. He feels like he’s going to die, and he doesn’t know _ why. _

 

“T’Lanar, Jesus!” Bonz is running, barefoot and bare-chested across the front lawn towards them, eyes wild with panic and knowing. T’Lanar doesn’t move, frozen in place as she stares down at Rhonda, out cold and bleeding sluggishly out of the corner of her mouth, most likely from having bitten the inside of her cheek. Toryk doesn’t notice any of that, though. He’s too busy trying not to scream.

 

“Toryk? Toryk, what’s wrong?” Bonz demands, kneeling beside him. Toryk doesn’t answer, tears running down his cheeks as he tries to hold in the wail building at the back of his throat. Bonz’s arm slides around his shoulders, trying to pull him up, but Toryk can’t handle the thought of standing. Instead, he falls limply into Bonz’s chest, pressing his temple into too-warm Human flesh.

 

“T’Pring!” Bonz shouts, shifting to allow Toryk a more comfortable position from which to cling. “What’s going on?”

 

“I do not know, Leonard,” T’Pring says from very close by. Apparently she’d followed him down to the source of the sudden chaos. “Perhaps a bond has formed between them—”

 

“Negative,” T’Lanar says numbly, eyes still on the girl. “There was no bond between Toryk and Rhonda.”

 

“Okay, great, then—”

 

“However, I believe I…” T’Lanar shakes her head, rubbing at her flushed palm with her other thumb. “I believe I might have just…”

 

She trails off. Toryk is crying openly now, fingers bruising Bonz’s skin where they dig into his arms.

 

Bonz isn’t an idiot. He can’t be, having spent the last few months watching the intricacies of Vulcan telepathy in action. Toryk feels it the moment Bonz realizes what’s happened, can feel the dismay and sympathy and minor annoyance he feels, all rolled up into one confusing, decidedly Human package.

 

“No,” Bonz says. “No—  _ goddammit,  _ kid, you’re not serious—”

 

“I believe she is, Leonard,” T’Pring says. She’s probably looking Rhonda over, checking for any injury. “A spontaneous bond, formed the moment she touched…” She trails off.

 

“Rhonda,” T’Lanar says miserably. “Her name is Rhonda.”

 

Toryk whimpers. He’s starting to lose the ability to focus, thoughts growing fuzzy in the face of potential unconsciousness.

 

There is a murmur of voices, a mixture of Vulcan and English, but Toryk doesn’t care to pay attention to the words of his audience. His bond has been broken without warning, and while T’Lanar has the immediacy of a new bond to take the jagged edge of pain away, Toryk finds himself suddenly adrift completely alone in a way he hasn’t been since he was seven years old.

 

“Fuck,” T’Lanar whispers, voice distant.

 

For the first time since the destruction of Vulcan, Toryk wholeheartedly agrees with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends part two of the series! I'll be taking a little break from this, since I've got a lot of other projects that need attending and also I'm more than a little burnt out from school, but I expect I'll get the next installment going sometime this summer.
> 
> Thanks to everybody who's been reading and commenting, y'all are the best.


End file.
